#because forced proximity isn’t over used at all….nah

[demonytekav]

Thought for the day. (Free use)

Quirk accident that makes Baku and Deku merge into one. They look like Siamese twins. One body two heads. Half the body is Izukus and half is Katsukis.

Wouldn’t that be a interesting 🤣🤣🤣 stuck until the quirk wears off.

It’s like the idea of making you hold hands with someone you got in a fight with. But worse.

Idk my brain thinks it would be a great catalyst for the next step in a relationship along with some comedy.

[comradeghosty]

Not a Study Session (NSFW)

NSFW Stoner!Ace x reader fic

Summary: You are supposed to meet your friend Luffy to help him study, but run into his older brother instead.

Tags: College AU, first time, corruption, fingering, vaginal sex, recreational weed use, praise

!!! 18+ !!!

I also posted on AO3

You walked up to Luffy’s house, backpack in hand and ready for your study (tutoring) session with the guy. Both of you were in this pre-calc class together, you because it was required for your major and Luffy because it was a required credit to graduate college. Needless to say, the man was hopeless on his own, but you helped pull his grade up to a C last quarter.

Usually he met you at your place, but your roommate had guests over for a party. Luffy offered for you to meet him at his house, telling you that his guardian wasn’t home for the weekend so it was free. So when the door swung open to a tall, tan man with long, dark hair, you were surprised. You adjusted your grip on your bag, shifting a little nervously and intentionally NOT looking at his bare chest. Seriously, who answers the door in just sweatpants?

“You're… not Luffy…?” you said dumbly, not expecting anybody to be at home. 

The man leaned against the doorframe, cocking his head slightly. He wore a slight smile. “So,  you’re Luffy’s friend from college?”

You avoided looking at his dark eyes, which felt like they pierced straight through you. It was a little uncomfortable how exposed you felt standing in front of him, watching his eyes flick down to take in your outfit. You wished that you had worn pants instead of a skirt. Of course, you couldn’t ignore that he was… very handsome. His long hair brushed his broad, freckled shoulders. You saw the way his strong jaw flexed when he spoke. 

“I, uh- yeah. Um… is Luffy home? We were supposed to study for the test next week,” you mumbled. The man in the door barked out a laugh.

“Ahh, I see. You’re the one helping him pass. You must be such a smart girl,” he smiled, his grin wolfish, like he might eat you up at any moment. “Nah, he’s at soccer practice right now. Since you came all this way, might as well stay. He’ll be home in maybe an hour.”

You felt your fingers fidgeting nervously, not wanting to be annoying by staying while Luffy isn’t even home. “Oh, no it’s fine. I can wait at the coffee sh-” you tried to protest, but the man already ushered you in by a large hand on the small of your back. 

Once inside, he closed the door behind you. He turned toward you with that huge grin on his face again. You swore his teeth sparkled. “I’m Ace, by the way. Luffy’s older brother. I’m sure you’ve heard of me,” he chuckled, winking at you. You stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do. Ace walked past you into the living room, flopping down on the couch in the living room. He was so relaxed, his lithe body moving in what you could only describe as a saunter.

Ace pulled out a large bong from somewhere you didn’t see, looking at you while packing a bowl. “You look so tense. Relax, I’m not gonna force you. Put your stuff down and come sit with me,” he offered, patting a couch cushion to beckon you over. 

“O- okay,” you stammered out, setting down your backpack near the front door and kicking your shoes off. Ace smiled at you when you sat down, leaving a bit of space between you. Slowly, you looked around the living room to distract yourself from your proximity to the man. The TV was on, featuring some pirate cartoon that Ace was probably watching. There were pictures hanging up that featured the brothers, and you shook your head when you felt yourself staring at a picture of Ace on the beach. You felt Ace’s knee press against you, and you were startled out of your trance, your body stiffening and eyes widening. For some reason, Luffy’s brother put you on edge, and now he was touching you. Ace chuckled at your reaction, and you felt a blush dust your cheeks.

“You’re a good girl, aren't you?” 

His words had your thighs tightening slightly, your eyes flitting quickly to his. “I- uh.. I’m sorry?”

“Like… in school?” he clarified, his eyes shifting back to the bong on the coffee table. You looked down, a bit mortified at your reaction, missing the smirk that stretched across Ace’s face. 

“O- oh… I guess… I’m a straight A student, if that’s what you're asking,” you mumbled out quickly, trying to move on. Swallowing hard, you tried to relax a little. It was embarrassing how jumpy you were.

Ace just hummed in response, lighting the bong. You watched as his mouth moved to the mouthpiece, the way his hand flicked the lighter, the rising of his chest as he inhaled the smoke. He knew you were watching him, but you were too focused to notice that he caught you. The bong was placed back on the table, and Ace exhaled. Fine ribbons of smoke drifted out from between his lips, and it was mesmerizing, you felt entranced. He licked his lips before turning to face you. You felt his eyes studying your face.

“You ever smoked before?” he asked. You shook your head, your eyes shifting to the cartoon on the TV. God, Ace thought you were so cute. His head tilted a little, grinning. “You wanna try?”

“Oh, uh.. I- well… okay,” you stuttered, feeling your face get warm again. If you could just stop blushing around him, that would be great!

“Ha, cute… okay,” Ace murmured, scooting closer to you. Your legs touched now, thighs pressed against each other. A shiver rolled through your body at the contact. “So here’s what we’re gonna do. Since you’ve never smoked before, I don’t want you inhaling directly from the bong. How about you shotgun a hit? It’ll be easier on you.”

You looked down, just nodding in response, when you felt Ace’s hand snapping in front of your eyes. He prompted you to look at him, and you had to look up to see his face. How had you not noticed how tall he was before?

“You gotta use your voice, you wanna try to shotgun? Hm?” he asked again. How he stayed so easy going while you were practically trembling, you didn’t know. All you could focus on was the way his skin was freckled across his nose and his bare chest. He was so close to you, warmth emanating from him. You could smell him, like smoke and sandalwood. God, he even smelled warm. You shifted in your seat.

For a second, you just nodded again before remembering you were supposed to speak out loud. “Ah, yes. But… I don’t know what that is,” you admitted shyly. It was sometimes embarrassing how inexperienced you were for a college student.

Ace chuckled, “Don’t worry, I’m a good teacher.” You felt reassured by his easy demeanor, like he wouldn’t judge you for not knowing. That put you at ease, and you started to really relax around him. You turned slightly, facing him while he explained how to shotgun a hit.

The way his lips moved was almost hypnotizing, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. As he explained, you intermittently nodded at him, your eyes flitting between his eyes and mouth. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. He finished up his explanation and looked at you, his eyebrows lilted. You watched as he wet his lips. “Alright? You got it? Think you can do it?” He looked for your confirmation, to which you nodded fervently. You had never been particularly interested in weed before, but you really wanted to impress Ace.

 “Y- yeah, I can do it,” you said, looking for his approval. You smiled up at him, your eyes wide and eager.

A large, warm hand rested on your knee. Ace smirked at you, “good girl. Now, I need you to move here so it’s easier for you.” Before you could react, the brunette's large hands took yours, and you let him guide you off the couch to kneel between his legs. You faced him, looking up at him with your hands resting on your thighs. Nerves started itching at you again before he picked up the bong. “Ready?” He wet his lips again, looking down at you.

“Mhm, I’m ready,” you nodded again. The anticipation made you so antsy to just do this. Ace flicked his lighter, but before he put the flame to the stem, he paused.

“I forgot to say,” he began, his eyes half lidded, “you have to put your lips against my lips to take the hit.” A smirk graced his lips as he flicked the lighter again and lit up the bong. Your mouth parted slightly, your eyes wide as you just nod dumbly up at him. Ace took the hit, a mouth full of smoke as he gripped your chin in his large hand. He angled your face up towards his, thumb brushing over your bottom lip to silently ask you to open. 

Your lips parted as he got closer to you, and you closed your eyes. When his lips touched yours, you felt yourself slightly jump but relax quickly as he inhaled the smoke into your mouth. You breathed in, the smell of weed and Ace filling your lungs. His lips were soft, and you briefly imagined kissing him before he pulled away. The smoke scratched at your throat when you breathed in, and you tried to hold the hit in your lungs as long as you could before you broke out into a coughing fit. The smoke was harsh on your throat, but you didn’t anticipate that since Ace made it look easy and effortless. Coughs wracked your body, and you found your forehead resting on Ace’s knee as you tried to catch your bearings. His hand stroked your hair, and you heard his soft voice murmuring to you.

“Gooooood girl. You're taking it so well,” he cooed. Ace’s large hand moved to your neck, cradling the back of your head and tugging slightly at your hair. You were pliant for him, letting him move you back so he could gaze down at you. His eyes were half lidded, and you could say he looked almost sleepy if it wasn’t for a stark alertness in them. A bottle of water materialized in front of you.

You coughed a little more. “Please, ‘m thirsty,” you whined for the water. Ace smirked, and god he looked like he wanted to eat you up.

The hand in your hair leaned your head back a little as Ace brought the bottle to your lips. You parted your lips for him, blushing at how intently he watched your mouth. “There you go… open… so good at following directions,” he breathed. The bottle of water tipped a bit, and he poured the water into your mouth, feeding you. His thumb rubbed firmly against the back of your neck, and he smiled. “Swallow… yeah, that’s it.” You looked up at him as you drank the water, small moans and noises coming from your throat as you drank greedily. A few drops of water dribbled down your chin before Ace pulled the bottle away, his thumb brushing away the droplets and dragging slightly against your cheek. “Atta girl, so good for your first time.” 

Ace drew away from you, the thumb that wiped the water from your lips coming to his mouth. You felt frozen as you watched his thumb disappear between his lips, seeing his pink tongue lick lazily over the digit. An ache formed in your abdomen as you knelt, entranced as you watched him lap at his thumb. You didn’t even realize the way your mouth parted and your breathing got heavier, the weed slowly hitting you and relaxing your boundaries and awareness. “F- fuck,” you whined, your face getting red as you realize you just moaned out loud. Ace’s eyes met yours, mischievous. You watched as he cocked his head to the side, raising one of his eyebrows.

“Yeah? You like that?” he hummed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Your faces were so close. All you could do was nod, you were speechless. Ace smiled, “you want some more?” You nodded again, quickly. Anything to get him to touch you again. He chuckled, his hand cradling your head once more. “Cute. Open your mouth for me.” 

Your lips parted in anticipation of more water, before you saw him lift the bottle to his own lips. There was barely any time to register what was happening before Ace took a mouthful of water into his own mouth and leaned down to your mouth. His lips were on yours and you felt a gush of liquid enter your mouth as he transferred the water to you. A moan bubbled up from your lips as you swallowed against him, your lips still touching. You felt Ace smirking against your mouth at your moan, and that was enough for you to abandon all shame and inhibitions. 

In one fluid motion, you gripped his thighs and pushed yourself up into him, kissing him messily. Your body stretched up to meet his mouth, and you devoured him like you were starved. The kiss was wet from the water, but neither of you cared, relishing the feeling of your tongues sliding against each other. Whines and moans escaped your mouth as your lips greedily mashed against his. His name escaped your mouth in a whimper, and Ace chuckled against you. “Ha, so needy… C’mere,” he murmured, biting at your lip before pulling back.

Ace bent down and wrapped his hands around your ass, cupping your cheeks as he pulled you up into his lap. Both of your legs rested on either side of his thighs as he squeezed you firmly. Your skirt bunched up around your hips, and you desperately pressed your lips back to his, whimpering and whining as your teeth knocked against his. If you were sober, you probably would’ve worried that Ace could feel your inexperience, but you were so desperate for him that it didn’t even cross your mind. You just wanted, needed, him more than anything. Ace’s hands wandered up your ass, gripping your waist and pressing you down into his lap. You gasped, feeling his hard length against your panties.

“Ahh,” you whined, your eyes wide as you stare at him. A blush spread down your neck as you felt Ace pressing himself up against you. A whimper left your lips as the brunette’s large hands moved your hips, grinding you down against his cock. “A- Ace…”

You saw Ace concentrating, letting out shaky breaths as your clothed cunt rubbed against him, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth. His hands squeezed your waist and you felt his deep voice radiate through your chest as he asked, “You ever done this before?”

A shiver shot down to your stomach, and your face burned. You looked up at Ace, eyes wide and mouth parted as you breathed heavily. Ace’s half lidded gaze made you feel naked, bare before him, the way his dark eyes saw straight through you. “Uh uh,” you shook your head, knowing that he already knew the answer. Ace smiled, one of his hands snaking up your side to touch your breast. 

“Don’t worry, cutie, you’re doing great,” he praised you, thumb skimming over your hardened nipple that peeked through your shirt. Your eyes fluttered shut at the contact, the foreign feelings sending shocks right between your thighs. As Ace’s hand moved back down to your waist, you felt yourself losing yourself in the feelings. Your body moved on its own, your high making everything more sensitive. Every time his bulge brushed against your clothed clit, a moan slipped through your mouth. Ace felt it too, sensitive and wanting as he rhythmically pressed himself into you. His quiet moans and sounds went right to your cunt, and you could feel your wetness soaking through your panties. 

You felt Ace’s hands move down your waist to your skirt, tugging slightly at the hem. “May I?” he asked. His knuckles skimmed against the outside of your thighs.

“P- please, Ace, please,” you begged, needy as you grinded against him. Ace smirked as his hands dipped under your skirt, gripping your thighs. It’s so sensitive, the way his hands danced against the delicate skin of your inner thighs. Your head slumped over, your forehead resting on his shoulder as you whined against him. All of the sensations were so new and amplified and overwhelming in the best way. Your hands rested against his bare chest. “Oh… god,” you moaned out when you felt his thumb brush against your panties. 

“Fuck… you’re so wet. Is this all for me?” he asked you, smirking and rubbing his thumb more insistently against you. “You respond so well to me, pretty.” 

You felt yourself get lost in the sensations, your mouth parted as you pant against his shoulder. “I need you to do something for me,” he urged. Ace’s hands disappeared from your body and you whimpered at the loss of contact, looking up at him with wide eyes. He smiled down at you, kissing you and biting at your bottom lip. His hands found yours, and he moved them to your skirt hem before pulling back. “I wanna see. Hold this up for me, alright?” You nodded, using both of your hands to pull your skirt up. Ace’s gaze darkened as he watched you expose yourself to him, shuddering as he watched your white cotton panties rub against his hard on. 

“P- please Ace, please… do something. Please,” you begged, your eyes squeezed tight as you grinded down desperately. Ace was flushed and panting as he watched you move. His hands gripped your thighs again, moving upwards along your sensitive skin. You felt his thumbs press against you though your panties, slowly and arduously rubbing your slit. 

“Like that? Is that what you want, angel?” he crooned, his voice breathy with want. You clenched the skirt in your hands, bucking your hips for more friction. It was so frustrating, you wanted more but it was so embarrassing to ask. Your face was flushed, eyes shut tight and breathing heavy. Ace couldn’t take his eyes off you, mesmerized by how responsive you were. “God… you look so cute like this.”

His thumb moved quickly across the wet spot on your panties, Ace’s gaze on where he touched you through your clothed cunt. A smirk crossed his face as he dragged his thumb up, brushing the digit over your clit. “Ah, fuck, Ace!” you cried out, clenching around nothing. You heard his breathing grow ragged as he watched you shudder as he rubbed circles through your panties. “Please, please please, Ace…” you chanted, so desperately needing more.

You heard Ace mutter under his breath, sighing out a breathy “fuck” before sliding your panties to the side and dipping two fingers into your slit. “You're so wet, so good for me,” Ace groaned. If he could’ve gotten any harder, he would’ve. He pulled his fingers off of you, moving them to his mouth and tasting you, moaning around his fingers as he greedily sucked them. You watched him, confused and turned on as his soft tongue worked its way around the digits. Ace opened his mouth, eyeing your expression.

“That’s… weird,” you breathed, the action being completely foreign to you.

Ace chuckled around his fingers before pulling them out of his mouth. “Nah, you taste delicious. Here,” he offered you his fingers, pushing them in your mouth before you could protest. “Suck.” 

His fingers pressed against your tongue as you hesitantly sucked them, the taste of yourself on his skin was interesting but not bad. The moan that Ace let out was unholy, his head leaned back as your tongue swirled around his digits.

“God,” he moaned, pulling his fingers out and returning them to your cunt. The middle finger dragged through your slit and pressed against your hole. “You ready?” he asked, checking in with you that this was still okay. 

You nodded, still holding up your skirt as Ace watched his finger sink into you. The feeling was so strange, but it was so enjoyable and you moaned out loudly. Ace wanted nothing more but to bury his cock in you as soon as possible. Slowly, he pumped his finger, letting you adjust to the feeling. Ace could feel you shaking. “How does it feel?” he asked, wanting to gauge your reaction.

“Haa, so good, so good Ace…” you whined, feeling yourself move against his finger. “Want more… please…”

Ace grinned widely, slowly pushing a second finger into you. “Your wish is my command,” he murmured, still hazy from his high. It was so hot to him how needy you were, how bad you wanted him. He fucked his fingers into you at a quicker pace as he watched your chest rise and fall as you panted. “God.. you're so pretty on my fingers,” he praised you, watching you grind against him harder in response. 

“I- I want…” you whined, flushing dark. “Ace… P- please…” One of your hands dropped your skirt, moving down to touch his clothed cock, rubbing a thumb against the shaft.

“F- fuck… God... You’re so perfect for me,” he moaned, his eyes fluttering shut. You watched as he used one hand to undo his pants, pulling his cock out. It was thick, with dark hair at the base. A moan escaped your mouth as you clenched down around his fingers, making Ace grin. “Yeah? Like what you see?”

He pulled his fingers out of you, using your wetness to slick his cock. One of your hands wandered down to meet his, touching him as he stroked himself. You felt him take your hand and place it on his cock, wrapping his hand around yours to show you how he likes it. Ace’s head leaned back with the sensation of your hand on his cock, moaning out your name and mumbling about how perfect you felt on him.

“Mm, Ace… want you… please…” you whined. One of his hands gripped your waist, adjusting you so you hovered right over him.

“Keep holding that skirt up… Wanna see…” Ace mumbled, need ravaging his brain. He pushed you down a little so he could run the tip of his cock through the wetness of your cunt. “Fuck, so wet for me.”

You struggled to hold the skirt up, trembling as he pressed against your hole. “A- Ace,” you whined as the hand on your waist pushed you lower, feeling the head of his cock push into you. His eyes were glued to the sight, loving watching himself enter you.

Ace breathed out, whispering a string of “fuck,” “so good,” and “so tight.” You sank down on him slowly, inch by inch as he filled you. “Breathe, make sure to breathe,” he reminded you and probably reminded himself as well. Your cunt squeezed around him, he was so thick as he bottomed out in you. Ace held you against him as you adjusted to the feeling of being full. “You’re doing so good for me, there you go,” he murmured. 

He started slowly, shallowly fucking up into you as you whined and moaned. The sensation was so new but so good, the head of his cock dragging against the sensitive spot in your cunt. Every time he filled you completely, the base of his cock bumped against your clit, sending fireworks down to your toes. You clenched around him every time, egging him on. “Oh, god, fuck Ace… feels so good… ‘m so full… please…” 

Ace felt himself losing his composure at the whines and moans you made, wanting to fuck you hard and fast. The way you were so innocent and willing made him want to absolutely ruin you. He started pulling you down as he fucked up into you, lightly at first, but slowly moving you faster. You felt your head slump forward, blissed out with the quick and rough thrusts. A small string of drool dripped from the corner of your mouth as you panted.

“Ha, fuck…” Ace groaned as he watched his cock thrust in and out of you. He could feel himself getting closer, so he moved a thumb to your clit and rubbed circles on it as he fucked you. He built up your orgasm quickly, and you could feel yourself tensing up. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you rocked yourself against him, bouncing yourself on his cock. The sensations were so much, the feeling of fullness when he bottomed out, the thumb on your clit, even the lingering high made you feel good and sensitive.

“Please, please…” you whined. You were so close.

“C’mon baby, I wanna feel you cum around me,” he moaned, feeling you tighten around him. 

A few more thrusts and you were cumming hard, clenching down on his cock and crying out. “God, fuck. Ace, I’m cumming. ‘S so good. Fuck,” you moaned, stringing together words and mumbled nonsense as you rode the feeling out against him.

“So fucking perfect,” Ace gritted out as he gripped your waist harshly. He held you up as he pounded into you, fucking you with abandon. You cried as you slumped against him, overstimulated. “So good, you feel so fucking good, god, fuck,” he whimpered, pulling out of you and cumming all over your thighs. You felt his shallow breaths against your neck as you both laid there, spent and exhausted. 

Both of you were sticky and wet. After a moment, you felt Ace lift you and carry you to the bathroom. He sat you on the counter, getting a warm, damp washcloth and wiping you off. You felt boneless, slightly slumped over but more clean. Ace pushed your hair back behind your ear, kissing your cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asked. You couldn’t really formulate a response, nodding your head and grunting out an affirmative noise. He chuckled at you. 

“You did so good for your first time. Let me take you home, I don’t think you’re gonna be much help studying today,” Ace smirked. “Guess that means you’ll have to come back later this week.”

[weirdochick56]

Sin- Steve Rogers AU Chapter Three

Biker!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, set in a universe where Pietro isn’t Wanda’s twin, but her older brother!!!

Disclaimers: I don’t own any MCU plots/characters mentioned. 

Word Count: 3, 379 Words

Summary: Y/n finally comes face to face with Biker King and it’s nothing like she imagined. And when she least expects it, the very person she came looking for will find her and all the emotions she has been holding in will come pouring out in unexpected ways.

Read Chapter Two Here!!

*

Under different circumstances, maybe you would’ve stayed there, in his hold a little while longer. It wasn’t like it was an unpleasant feeling...not in the least. 

His hot hands and cool rings contrasted eachother deliciously on your skin and it had actually taken you a while to pull yourself out of your dazed trance, between getting the air knocked out of you and now....

“Oh.” 

You didn’t mean to yelp the way you did when your gaze met those of the blonde Adonis that stood before you, but you couldn’t help it. Those eyes...if you had thought they were pretty before, now you could say with absolute certainty that they were utterly showstopping. 

Salacious, intense, powerful...you’d never wanted to drown in a person’s gaze more. 

He had the kind of eyes you don’t just get lost in, but entirely lose yourself to. The kind that if you stare into too long, you might be swallowed like quicksand. And yet, even knowing this, you couldn’t pull yourself away and had found yourself for the second time in only a short span of time, unable to breathe correctly. 

His gaze was steady on yours as well, though unlike you he wasn’t shaken in the least. He was all cool and collected, his eyes searching yours out shamelessly. 

And so you stay like that for a few moments, his big hands pressed onto your mostly bare back and your hands gripping his forearms tightly, steadying- anchoring yourself. Though nothing about the piercing power of that gaze was anchoring or even real to you. 

Gradually, your heart begins picking up an erratic pace which only spikes when his fingers begin tracing softly over your skin. 

The shivers this sends down your spine feels like a slap to the face and you find yourself almost aggressively pushing yourself away from him. He hesitates a bit, but it’s only a split second before his hands are unclasped and off your skin. 

Breaking away seems to break the trance-like state you were in and instantly, the embarassment sets in, your cheeks heating up immediately. You bow your head refelctively. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out of pure shame. Not because of him, but because of yourself.  

Why were you acting like this? 

I mean, you weren’t normally one to fall for a pretty face because you had grown up around rich pretty boys your whole life.

But he...

You take a cautious peek at him again and instantly regret doing so when you realize the fact that his eyes had seemingly never left you and were now practically glowing with amusement as he watched you closely.

Your breath hitches and you bite your lip, a nervous habit of yours. His eyes momentarily flick down to the action but they quickly return back up to your gaze. 

Your eyes are everywhere at once, your breathing labored. ‘He’s too close’, you think to yourself amidst the chaos in your brain. 

And he’s too goddam perfect. 

He’s all sharp jaw, high cheekbones, silky, messy blonde hair, pink plump lips and piercing blue eyes...every slope and curve and straight edge of his face was all too perfectly harmonious with one another. To say you were in complete awe at the Adonis before you would be an understatement. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

His plump lips are so pink and full and they’re only highlighted more by his dark neatly kept beard, you have to blink several times to make sure you’re not imagining them. How can a man have such pretty lips? 

You had never seen someone this alluring in your life, he wasn’t at all like the pretty rich boys of your town. 

He had a naturally intimidating aura to him, in that rough-around-the-edges badass biker way that you shouldn’t be finding this damn attractive. 

And then you take a moment to take in his full form. You were right; he was easily a whole foot taller than you, sporting more tattoos than you could count on his visible skin- that was, his collarbone and hands, some of the ones up his arm poking out when he moved. 

Unlike most people here who wore kuttes, he was wearing a thick leather jacket with the word, ‘President’ patched in bold black and white on it, but you knew he had his arms fully tatted because you’d seen it that day at the store.

 He also wore black worn jeans that clung sexily on his slim hips, chains hanging over the jean hoops and clanging everytime he moved. He clearly loved his black combat boots because it was visibly obvious he used them a whole lot. 

His sexy mouth lifts at the corner into an even sexier smirk and you all but come undone when he speaks again. “It’s okay, angel.” 

‘Doll’, ‘angel’...

Your brow furrows and before you know what you’re doing...

“Are you in the habit of giving girls you’ve never met pet names, sir?”  You blurt without thinking. 

The unintentionally sassy words fly out of your mouth before your brain can even catch up, but when it does, your eyes instantly widen and your hand flies to your mouth, clasping over it in complete horror. 

You want to die when the excessive attitude in your words sinks in and suddenly you’re all too aware of just how much bigger and intimidating this man was compared to you. 

He could snap you, and most grown men, in half without a second thought. 

You open your mouth to apologize profusely thinking you’ve offended this (most likely) dangerous outlaw, but you freeze once you see his expression. 

He doesn’t seem angry at all, in fact, he’s...laughing? No, it’s not a full-on laugh like the one you’d seen in that parking lot. It’s more airy, more casual. 

He was chuckling. At you. 

He speaks again, this time amusedly. “Nah, only the pretty ones.” 

You’re caught off-guard by the suave of his words and you find yourself profusely blushing once more. You have no idea how to respond to him so instead, you just shake your head, desperate to escape this increasingly flustering situation.

“Okay. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” you offer him a forced polite smile and go to side-step him. 

You barely make it two steps before his hand is flying out, gripping your wrist firmly and tugging you backwards. A little gasp flies out of your mouth at the suddeness of the movement and before you understand what’s happening, you find yourself pressed tightly against a wall, shrouded in darkness. 

You turn your wide eyes onto Biker King, whose thick arms are now pressed beside each side of your head, caging you in entirely. His long torso is leaning down slightly, so his eyes are directly with in your line of sight. 

His scent comes onto you like an avalanche. He smells strongly of leather, cologne, shaving cream, something woodsy yet manly and strangely enough, clean laundry. 

It was unlike any scent you’d ever smelt on a man, but somehow it fit him perfectly and you found yourself inhaling deeper than usual, your heart racing at his sudden proximity. 

He’s so close, your chests are only an inch or two away and he’s staring straight into your soul, cornering you like a predator would a helpless prey. 

“Uh...” you can only mumble awakwardly, still kind of dazed and gaping up at him in utter shock, you can barely hear yourself over the loud pounding of your erratic heart. 

Up close, he’s more beautiful than you could’ve ever imagined a person to be and his piercing gaze was honestly dizzying you. 

“Why are you here, doll?” 

His sudden question jerks you painfully back into reality and you press your lips together, your brows pinching up instantly at his words. The question is so blunt, so sudden, you can only blink furiously up at him. 

“I- what?” You breathe shakily, suddenly unable to function at all. 

He tilts his head down at you, raising a brow and speaking awfully matter-of-factly. “Well you’re that pretty little thing from that shit-hole parking lot, aren’t you?”

At first you can only blink stupidly at him, not expecting him to recognize you but then it suddenly dawns on you...if he recognized you then-

You gasp loudly, cheeks more fiery than ever. 

A knowing smirk grows on his face. “Hey, for what it’s worth, angel, it was a pretty catchy ringtone.” 

You bite your lip in order to supress any small sound threating to spill over out of your lips. 

His eyes darken when they fall onto your meek movement and he tightens his hold in the wall, inhaling sharply. “Damn...” 

Your blush darkens and your stomach clenches at his small, heated mumble that leaves those pretty lips. 

Maybe it was the smug little smirk on his beautiful face that bothered you so much. Or maybe it was the way his eyes pierced through you like you were see-through, but either way, you felt trapped. 

Like he was a lion and you were some small, distressed powerless prey, unable to escape that watchful gaze.

“I have to go...” you breathe curtly, staring at his mouth from under your lashes as his pink tongue pokes out, sweeping lightly over his lips.

He chuckles sexily. “Oh, nu-uh, doll. You haven’t answered my damn question yet. What’s a girl like you doing here?” 

“A girl like me?” You frown. 

He laughs, looking away for a second before turning his magnetic eyes back onto you, somehow more intensely than before. 

“You and I both know you don’t belong on this side of town, angel,” he whispers meaningfully, staring at your mouth fixedly. 

“I-I don’t even know you,” is all you can manage in a shaky voice, feeling like an invisible force is pushing at your chest. 

His eyes lazily drag up to your own and he hums thoughtfully. “You don’t have to. You just have to tell me what you want with this place.” 

You find yourself reeling back indignantly at his demanding tone despite your nervousness. Just who did this stranger think he was?

“I don’t have to tell you jack shit,” you snap. “Now let me go, please.”

If he’s shocked by your little outburst, he doesn’t show it, instead he laughs lowly, the sound somehow like pebbles scraping against gravel and also like what silk felt on your skin or the way honey squeezes out of a bottle. 

The sound was so sexy- a perfect balance of masculine and airy- that it felt like a carress on your skin. 

“Oh, you’re definitely not from around here, little spit fire.”

You want to ask him what he means, but before you can, a voice cuts in from behind you both. 

“Prez.” 

The both of you freeze, but perhaps for entirely different reasons. Biker King looks mildly annoyed at the interruption, and you...

Well that voice sounded freakishly like-

Biker King releases a big breath, smoothly pushing off the wall and spinning around to look at the voice, leaving you to finally be able to release a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. 

You’re still safely hidden behind the much larger frame of Biker King, but you can easily make out about three pairs of manly feet from between his lean, jean-clad legs.

“Sorry, Prez,” the same voice quickly pushes out, but he sounds more panicked than apologetic. “I know you’re busy but...” he pauses, and for some reason you know it’s because of you. 

‘Prez’? As in “president”? You found yourself wondering silently. 

Tentatively, you step out from behind Biker King, head bowed. “Uhm- I was actually just going so..” 

You don’t even plan on looking at them before high-tailing it out of there, but a shocked voice stops you. 

“Y/n?!” 

Your head snaps up instantly. 

And when your gazes make contact for the first time in a long time, you can’t help the tears that instantly pool around your eyes, eyes and nose burning furiously as all the overwhelming feelings and thoughts you’d been suppressing for so long come rushing to the surface.

It was an instantaneous reaction because deep down you had felt he was near and a wave of conflict crashes right against you as you stiffen up.

Your mouth feels dry as you blink the threatening hot tears back. You haven’t seen him in a while, but he hasn’t very much changed appereance wise. 

Those eyes were still the warmest blue you’ve ever seen, that hair was still kinky and he hadn’t chopped off his frosty tips. 

It dawns on you why you’d recgonized that voice and your heart squeezes tightly as you’re fact to face with him...

Your voice is croaky and breathy when you say his name, but you force yourself to. 

“Pietro.”

*

Steve’s POV

I watch with raised brows as Pietro, or ‘Pretty Boy’ as we called him and my angel -Y/n is what Pietro called her- naturally draw closer together, like being pulled together by some kind of fucking magnetic force, and a surge of anger rises within me instantly. 

‘So your name is Y/n, huh?’ I can find myself thinking that her name is beautiful, delicate and feminine like her and that it would probably feel good to say on my tongue. 

Bucky and Sam each shoot a weird look my way, as if asking ‘what’s up with these two?’ and I give them a short shrug, quickly turning my gaze back onto the stomach-churning scene developing before me. 

Fuck, I hated her being so close to another man, it was inexplicable. I had just met the girl but I already knew I wanted her in my bed- it was like an instinct to me. 

Pietro is now within reach of her and I can do nothing but clench my fists as he reaches his arms out, with tears in his eyes appareantly not giving a flying fuck that his brothers are watching this unfold and tugs her small body towards him. 

What fucks me up more than anything is that she doesn’t fight him in the least. 

I mean it’s clear that they know eachother from their dramatic soap opera moment, but it’s the fact that they look so natural doing it -like they’ve done it so much before it’s muscle memory at this point- that makes me want to kill someone...perferably Pietro. 

He buries his face in her hair, inhaling her scent deeply and I can’t say I blame him. In the small amount of time I’d spent close to her, I’d become addicted to her smell. She smelt nothing like the women I’d fucked over the years. They used cheap off-brand shit, that too potent sweet stuff...but her? 

She smelled like wild flowers and vanilla, an expensive, soft, but not entirely inconspicuous scent I would fucking drown in if I could for the rest of my miserable life. 

As I watched on, helplessly clenching my fists so as to not do something rash, she shakily lifts her petite arms and wraps them around Pietro, hugging him tightly to her.

Oh. I growl under my breath, unable to resist the pang of jealousy that hits me.  

Bucky, my vice president, sends a look my way and I’m pretty sure there’s murder on my face, but all he does is smirk amusedly, the fucker. 

But then it gets worse, because Pretty Boy’s hands start wandering, rubbing her back tenderly, up and down almost to her nice round ass. Up and down, up and d-

I see red, and before I know what I’m doing, I feel myself lunging forward, ready to rip them apart. 

Except...

“Oh shit!” I freeze when I hear Sam voice all our thoughts at what has just happened. 

In the time I had stepped forward, Y/n had suddenly broken away from the embrace, brought her small fist back and clocked Pietro right in the jaw. 

We all stare like damn idiots at the loud smack sound, and consequent mixture of grunts and yelps that rings out, but none more than me. 

Little spitfire packs a damn powerful right hook, even with her size. 

I can see even Bucky, whose the most stoic of us all, is unable to do anything but gape at the scene. 

Our shocks lasts very little because in the next second, still cradling her injured hand to her chest, she uses her other free hand to smack him in the head, over and over. 

“You asshole!” she hissses, whacking him anywhere she can get her small hand. Pietro is crouched over, arms thrown over his head in order to protect himself. 

“Y/n stop!” he demands. 

But this only seems to anger her more and she’s attacking him with more fury now. “How dare you just up and leave like that? I thought-” she huffs, pained. “I thought you loved me, you dipshit!” 

It would seem my little angel has a potty mouth on her and I can’t help but smirk bemusedly to myself despite the fact that anyone here can tell there’s history there. 

Sam and Bucky’s shock seems to have worn off as well and they’re now staring, on the verge of laughter. 

It was pretty comical I’ll admit, seeing as she was way smaller than him and still whooping his ass. It was actually pretty impressive considering he was one of my guys.

I snap into action once I remember that she’s injured her hand and that Pietro isn’t fighting back because if he did, he could kill her. 

“Sam, Bucky,” I snap, pointing at Pietro with my eyes. They don’t hesitate a single second and instantly capture Pretty Boy in their hold, tugging him back. 

I reach out and grab Y/n by her waist, easily lifting her up and away. 

“Let me go, dammit! Let me go!” 

She wiggled aggressively against my hold, still flailing her small limbs about and yelling like a nutjob, but she’s no match against my strength. 

I hug her tightly, pressing her back to me so she can relax. “Settle down, angel,” I whisper calmly in her ear, but she keeps resisting, so I hastily add “If you keep wiggling that pretty little ass of yours like that on my cock you’re going to make me do something I’ll regret later. So I highly suggest you stop. Fucking. Moving.”   

I suppress the urge to grin when I feel her instantly stiffen beneath my touch. She finally seems to give up and fall limp against my hold. 

I mean, I was only half lying to get her to calm down. Actually, I was already half hard. 

‘You are one sick fucking bastard, Steve’ I think to myself bemusedly. 

“Y/n?! What the hell is going on?!” Another feminie voice calls out from behind us. 

Our necks snap instantly towards the direction where it came from and I frown. A pretty redhead comes bounding towards us, or well, me, looking just about ready to kill me and it is then I realize that I’m still carrying Y/n. 

“What the fuck are you doing?! Let her go!” She starts to give me hell, but Y/n suddenly sighs. 

“It’s okay Wanda,” she mutters. “He was just trying to keep me from killing-”

“Wanda!” Pietro calls out suddenly and the redhead’s eyes widen, much like Y/n’s had when she had first seen him. She instantly turns to Pretty boy and runs over to him, tears in her eyes. She practically jumps on him and holds him tightly to her. 

What. The. Hell. 

Sam turns to Bucky incredulously as ‘Wanda’ and Pietro hold eachother like they were the other’s life line. 

“Dude,” Sam breathes over to Bucky. “Where the hell is Pretty Boy getting all these babes from?” 

Bucky shrugs. “No clue.” 

“Wanda what are you doing here?” Pietro breaks away from her, ignoring Buck’s and Sam’s whispers. 

“Oh Pietro! I thought you were dead!” she sniffles and I’ve had just about enough of this shit show. 

“Enough.” I call out, gently setting Y/n down. I try to ignore her pretty gaze burning holes into the side of my head and focus on the issue at hand, turning my harsh gaze to Pietro. 

He gulps audibly because he knows I’m no longer playing around. 

“Pietro, you’re going to explain now.” 

Read Chapter Four Here!!

***

Pretty short chapter but I hope you liked! If anything I can rewrite it-

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Our Bodies Were Printed As Blank Pages To Be Filled With The Ink Of Our Hearts (Tobin Heath x Reader)

Anonymous Request:  Would you do a tobinxreader where the reader is a tattoo artist who is muscular and tall and tattooed, and Tobin and her friends come in with ash to get a new tattoo and the reader ends up convincing a shy Tobin to get a small tattoo on like her ribs or something and the whole time the reader has to restrain herself from hitting on her even though she still flirts and tobins friends make fun of both of them and the reader ends up asking Tobin out and they hit it off. Like ash is protective though because she knows the readers past but she gets over it lol?

Title based off of quote: “Our bodies were printed as blank pages to be filled with the ink of our hearts.” – Michael Biondi

The bell to your shop rings and you glance over your shoulder, your smile stretching into a grin.  

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer.”  

Ashlyn makes her way towards you, holding a hand out which you take, the two of you meeting in a hug. You give her back a pat as your chests meet.  

“I’m not used to the place being so empty.” She says as she glances around and you shrug.  

“I closed the place for today, figured you wouldn’t want fans breathing down your neck.” You say as you pat her shoulder, turning back to your equipment.  

The bell to your shop again rings and you sigh.  

“Sign says closed!” You call out, though a hand on your back silences you.  

“They’re with me.”  

“Ah, sorry my mistake.”  

“Nah, you’re good.” You hear a familiar voice say and you turn around, eyes wide.  

“You brought Megan Rapinoe, you never said you were bringing Megan Rapinoe.” You stare at Ashlyn wide eyed and Megan bows.  

“At your service.”  

You chuckle, eyes widening further when Ali Krieger, who you’d met before, as well as Christen Press and Tobin Heath make their way inside your eyes widening as you glance at Ashlyn who sends you a wink.  

The goalie had known full well about your crush on Tobin Heath, the woman forced to hear you talk about the forward every time she’d come in, which judging by the tattoos on her arms and legs, was a LOT.  

You clear your throat, cheeks flushed pink as you glance away.  

“Ye-Yeah, c-come in.” You stammer, Ashlyn snickering as she pats your back.  

Meanwhile with your back turned you completely miss the way Tobin is shamelessly ogling you, the woman swallowing hard.  

It was impossible for her to ignore your physique, your muscular, tattooed arms on display thanks to the muscle tee you’re wearing, another tattoo visible crawling up from beneath your shirt and up your neck.  

Tobin briefly imagines what the tattoo would look like in its entirely, but when you turn around, your eyes immediately finding hers, she glances away, cheeks flushed.  

You clear your throat, clapping your hands together.  

“So, let’s get started.”

                                                             ***

Ashlyn’s teammates chat as you get to work, your eyes narrowed as you focus intently on your work.  

“Come on Tobes, Y/N is the best artist I know, you should get your tattoo here.” Megan gives her a nudge and Tobin huffs.  

“I-I don’t know...” She mumbles and you smirk.  

“Aww, come on. I promise I don’t bite.” You glance her way, sending her a wink and Tobin’s cheeks flush.  

You chuckle, turning back to Ashlyn’s thigh, missing the way Christen gives her best friend a nudge.  

“Come on Heath.” You tease, Ashlyn rolling her eyes.  

She knew about your crush on Tobin, BUT she also knew you had a reputation, a reputation for hitting and quitting with women per se.  

“Yeah, Y/N knows what she’s doing, she’s the only person Ashlyn will let near her with a tattoo gun.”  

You smirk.  

“Yeah, you wouldn’t cheat on me, would you Ash?” You ask, the goalie smirking. 

“Never.”  

                                                             ***

Ashlyn gingerly moves to her feet, the woman heading towards the bathroom as you move to your feet, bones cracking from being in the same position for so long.  

You turn, smiling when you see Tobin inspecting a wall full of pictures, pictures you’d taken of past clients and their freshly done tattoos.  

“See any you like?” You ask, moving to stand beside her and Tobin smiles shyly. 

“I like all of them.” She shrugs and you chuckle.  

“Definitely stroking my ego.” You wink, the forward blushing profusely.  

Ashlyn’s eyes narrow when she sees the two of you, something Ali notices right away, the woman making her way towards her.  

“What’s wrong?” She asks, her wife humming.  

“Y/N.” She whispers and Ali’s brows furrow.  

“Yeah...?”

“You know she has a reputation.”  

Ali turns towards you with a frown.  

“I doubt she’d do something like that to Tobin...” She says, noticing the way your cheeks flush when your fingertips accidently brush Tobin’s hand.  

“I don’t know.” Ashlyn frowns, the woman’s eyes widening when you turn her way.  

“Ready?” You ask and the goalie nods.  

“Ready when you are.”  

                                                             ***

Ashlyn watches intently as you run a cloth down her leg, the fresh tattoo prominent on her tanned skin.  

You nod, lips splitting into a grin as you pick your head up, your eyes darting around Ashlyn’s face.  

“Man, I thought this would look better.” You jest, Ashlyn’s eyes widening as she abruptly sits up, seeing, as per usual, a literal work of art on her leg.  

“Dick.” She rolls her eyes, giving you a playful shove.  

“That looks amazing.” Christen says in awe, glancing over her shoulder at Tobin, the woman scanning the masterpiece with a grin.  

“It really does.”  

You spin in your chair, grinning up at the forward.  

“Convinced you to get a tat?” You ask, a brow arched and Tobin hums, shuffling from foot to foot.  

You move to your feet with a grin.  

“You don’t have to.” You smile, your hand brushing hers as you slip passed her.  

You take a card from the holder on your desk, a smile stretching across your face.

“You can always call me if you change your mind.” You hold the card out to her, the woman taking it with a smile.  

“I know you live here in Portland...” Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing pink as you rub the back of your neck.  

“Th-That sounded creepy.” You chuckle nervously. “What I meant was I know you’re on the Portland Thorns, I just, f-f-figured.”  

Tobin giggles, the tips of your ears burning at the sound.  

“It’s okay, you’re right.” She smiles.  

Ashlyn meanwhile is eyeing the two of you intently.  

She’d NEVER seen you act this way in front of ANY woman, usually, you’d plaster on a charming smile and flirt in an attempt to woo the woman into giving you her number, which, was a usual success.  

Who wouldn’t have a thing for a heavily tattooed, muscular woman with a charming grin who was INSANLEY talented?  

Still, Ashlyn couldn’t help but be a bit protective over Tobin, she wasn’t about to let you use her like you had other women.  

“Ahh come on Tobitto.” 

Megan gives her a nudge. 

“We have to leave tomorrow and I’m not leaving without seeing you get your first tattoo.” She pouts, the woman wanting to see Tobin get her first tattoo.  

“Ohhh, a tattoo virgin.” You snicker, your tongue between your teeth.  

Tobin hums, her eyes darting to the wall full of your past client’s tattoos before she fishes her phone out of her pocket.  

“I may have looked at a few designs...” She shrugs and you move to stand beside her, the forward stiffening at the proximity between the two of you, the smell of your cologne clouding her senses.  

You nod, one of your hands moving to rest on her back.  

“That’s cute, I like it, from your brand, right?” You ask, Tobin turning to you with an arched brow.  

“You know about re-inc?” Christen asks and you smirk, making your way behind the counter before coming back with something in the palm of your hand.  

Tobin grins at the sight of the ReImaginer Signet Ring in the palm of your hand.  

“I bought it the day you released it.” You smile, placing it down on the counter with a sigh. “I tried to buy someone’s painting, but someone out bid me.” You pout, Tobin’s cheeks flushing.  

“You’re serious?” She asks and you nod.  

“Unfortunately, I had to eat, so I couldn’t bid any higher.”  

Tobin smiles, the woman’s eyes widening when Megan gives her a nudge.  

“SO, TATTOO YAY OR NAY!?” She grins, waiting, semi patiently for Tobin’s answer.  

Tobin glances your way, the charming smile on your face making her grin.  

“Yay.”  

Megan throws a fist in the air.

“YEAH!” Megan walks over, smacking your arm.  

“LETS GO TO WORK.”

You laugh, nodding to the chair.  

“Whenever you’re ready Heath.”  

                                                             ***

The look on Tobin’s face when she sits in the chair makes you chuckle.  

“Nervous?” You ask as you adjust the clean gloves on your hands, and Tobin shrugs, wiggling in the seat.  

“A little.”  

You place a hand on her forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze.  

“It’ll be alright. I’ll be gentle.” You wink suggestively and Tobin’s cheeks flush.

“I know you needed time to think of where you wanted it, so-

You stop mid-sentence; your eyes widening when Tobin pulls her shirt over her head, revealing her sports bra clad physique.  

You can’t help but peruse the woman’s newly exposed flesh, the woman’s abdominal muscles prominent.  

You clear your throat, glancing away, the tips of your ears burning hot.  

“Here.”  

You give your head a shake before you turn back to her.  

You duck down, the woman’s fingertips dragging along her bra line.  

“That’s going to be a little tender.” You say, unconsciously running your fingertip along the underside of her sports bra.  

Tobin meanwhile has stiffened, her eyes as wide as saucers and cheeks blood red.  

Megan snickers, sending her friend a wink, while Christen covers her mouth to stifle her giggles.  

Ashlyn in the meantime is staring your way, her eyes narrowed.  

Ali gives her a nudge.  

“She’s just doing her job.” She whispers in her wife’s ear and Ashlyn hums.  

“She better be.”  

You hum.  

“Here would be best.” You tap her side, a bit below the edge of her sports bra.  

You glance up at her with a smirk.  

“I mean, you’d have to wear more revealing clothes to show it off...” You shrug. “Can’t say I’d mind, I mean...” Your eyes run down her front, the woman in the chair looking at you with wide eyes, her cheeks dusted pink.  

Tobin glances away bashfully, rolling her eyes when she sees Megan fluttering her eye lashes.  

You turn to Tobin as you pick up your tattoo gun.  

“You ready?” You ask with a soft smile and Tobin inhales loudly, her eyes closing.  

“Yep.”  

                                                             ***

Much to your surprise, Tobin remains completely still, the woman seemingly unaffected by the needle.

“Color me surprised.” You say with a smile and Tobin’s brows arch.  

“I didn’t expect you to be the unaffected by getting a tattoo type.”  

Tobin snorts.

“Give me more credit than that.”  

You chuckle, focusing all of your attention on your work.  

Tobin’s eyes glaze over, the woman watching as your face hardens, your eyes narrowing as you focus on making even the smallest of tattoos perfect.  

With you so focused on your work, Tobin gets the chance to do a little perusing of her own.

Tobin’s eyes dart intently around your face, the woman’s brown orbs running along your jawline, a jaw that’s currently clenched.  

She takes in the smooth skin of your face, wondering what it would feel like to touch it, the thought making her cheeks flush red.  

Tobin can’t help but smile when she realizes your tongue is poking out of the corner of your mouth, your dark Y/E/C orbs narrowed.  

You smirk, taking your eyes off your task, your eyes locking with Tobin’s brown orbs.  

Your lips split in a grin.  

“Something on your mind?” You ask, your eyes darting around her face.  

Tobin grins, biting her bottom lip between her teeth.  

“Maybe.” She winks, blatantly flirting and your cheeks flush, your eyes darting from her brown orbs, to her lips and back.  

“Maybe we can talk about what’s on your mind when we finish, hmmm?” You hum, her lips spitting in a grin.  

“I think I like the sound of that.”  

                                                             ***

Ashlyn’s brows arched as she watched the two of you interact, blatantly flirting.  

She’d never seen you act the way you were currently acting with any woman other than Tobin, Tobin who couldn’t help but keep smiling at you when you weren’t looking, Tobin who seemed to be as interested in you as you were her.  

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if you were just going to use Tobin like you had the other women before.  

Ashlyn hums when she sees the two of you simply staring at one another, your and Tobin’s cheeks dusted pink.  

Maybe she was wrong about you.  

                                                             ***

You pull back once you’re satisfied, turning to Tobin with a grin.  

“What do you think?” You ask as you grab your mirror off the nearby desk.

Tobin grins when she sees the newest addition to her body, a tiny popsicle, a bite from the sweet treat, along with a drip from the permanently melting popsicle.  

“That’s amazing!” Christen beams as she peeks over your shoulder, Megan jumping on Ashlyn’s back so she can see over everyone.  

“Dude, that’s dope, I’m coming here for my tats from now on.”  

Ali gives you a pat on the back.  

“Y/N always does good work.”  

“She’s the best.” Ashlyn adds.  

You wipe your gloved hands across your shoulders, earning an eyeroll from the forward in the seat in front of you.  

“I was going to write my number on there, but I thought that would be a bit much.” You shamelessly flirt and Tobin laughs, retrieving your card from her pocket.  

“You already gave me it, remember?”  

Your eyes widen, your cheeks dusted pink as you rub the back of your neck bashfully.  

“So, I guess I kind of already did what I planned to do, huh?” You chuckle, your lips splitting into a grin.  

Tobin blushes as well, glancing away from you, embarrassed.  

“I guess you did.” She whispers softly, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.  

You clear your throat, focusing again on your work, applying the ointment and bandage before you move to your feet.  

“Looks like were done.” You groan loudly, stretching.  

Tobin moves to her feet, taking a step towards you.

Your eyes widen, the proximity between the two of you lesser than it had been the entire day.

“Does that mean you want me to use the card?” She asks, holding it between the two of you and you smirk, your eyes darting from her brown orbs to her lips and back.  

“Do you want to use it?” You ask, hopefully, something about Tobin affected you in a way that no woman had in a long, long time, an affect you wanted to explore further.  

Tobin grins.  

“I do.”  

You chuckle, grinning.  

“Th-Th-That's...” You clear your throat, glancing away, cheeks flushed. “

“That’s, cool...”  

You nod.  

“Cool. Ye-Yeah, cool.”  

Tobin laughs, taking a reluctant step back.  

“Damn, she got game.” Megan whispers to Ashlyn, the woman nodding, a small smile playing on her lips at your nervousness, a nervousness you hadn’t seen before.

Christen gives her best friend a nudge, the woman’s cheeks flushing pink.  

“You have to admit, they’re cute.” Ali whispers to her wife, the taller woman nodding.  

“Yeah, they are.”  

Still, she can’t help but feel somewhat reluctant at the thought of the two of you being together.  

Tobin moves towards the counter.  

“How much?”  

You shake your head, your fingertips brushing her wrist as you slip behind the counter.  

“It’s on the house, it’s not every day I get to have my way with a first timer.” You flirt, teasingly, the forward rolling her eyes with a giggle.  

You point across the shop at Ashlyn.  

“YOU, are still paying.” You snicker, the goalie rolling her eyes.  

“Fineeeeee.” She pouts and you throw your head back with a laugh.  

The others make their way towards the door, Tobin lingering behind with a shy smile.

“S-So, text you later?” She whispers, shuffling from foot to foot and you grin, leaning across the counter.  

Tobin’s entire body is set aflame when you take her hand, giving it a light squeeze, your thumb running across the back of her hand.  

“Ye-Yeah, I hope I hear from you, I’d uhhh...” 

You clear your throat, swallowing hard. 

“I’d really like to umm, get to know you better.”  

Tobin surprises you by wrapping her fingers around yours, giving your hand a squeeze.  

“I’d like to get to know you better too.” She says softly, the woman glancing down at your joined hands.  

You give her hand a squeeze before reluctantly letting go, the two of you already missing the feel of your hands in one another's.  

“So, see you later then?” You smile and she nods.  

“Yeah, see you later.”  

You watch with a shy smile as Tobin exits the shop, your lips splitting into a grin as you throw a fist in the air, excited to talk to the woman more.

You clear your throat, remembering that you aren’t alone in the shop, your cheeks blood red when you turn towards the others, Megan, Ali and Christen all grinning.  

Christen gives you a wave as she follows Tobin out of the door..  

“See you later, Y/N.”

“Later tater, I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.” Megan grins, smacking the counter and you chuckle, giving her a wave as she leaves the shop, Ali following close behind.  

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.” Ali grins and you chuckle.  

“With how many tats Ashlyn gets, we’ll see each other in a week or two.” You laugh, the goalie’s wife giggling as she exits the shop, leaving the only two people in the shop being you and Ashlyn.  

You turn to Ashlyn with a smile.  

“I’m glad you like the finished product, just let me know when you want to get another done and my schedule will be cleared.” You grin, brows arching when you see the look on her face.  

“Is something wrong...?” You ask, head cocked to the side and Ashlyn sighs.  

“Look, if I’m being honest, I’m a little worried about you talking with Tobin.”  

Your eyes narrow.

“What do you mean?” You ask, confused and Ashlyn clears her throat.  

“Look, I know about your reputation...” She mumbles and you wince.  

“O-O-Oh...” You fidget nervously.  

Ashlyn frowns at the look on your face.  

“Look, I don’t care if you talk to Tobin, but if you hurt her, I’ll kill you.”  

You snort, the frown on your face turning into a small smile.  

“I won’t...” You shrug, cheeks flushing pink. “There’s something different about her, I don’t know what it is.” You shrug, the flush on your cheeks darkening.  

Ashlyn leans across the counter, giving you a playful nudge.  

“There must be, I’ve never seen you like this.” She laughs and you roll your eyes.  

“Stopppppp.”  

Ashlyn laughs as she fishes in her short’s pocket for her wallet.  

“Still, hurt her and I kill you.”  

You nod.  

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”  

[knives-and-lint]

proximity

Leaning over his shoulder, she's only curious, to see how he goes about gathering information for them. He's not a particularly fast typist, though she notes that he never once has to look down at his fingers like she would, different screens popping up as he combs through the data.

It's not something she thinks about.

How easily she presses against him, letting her chin drop to his shoulder, and that if she wanted could circle his waist with her arms.

It's not something he comments on.

Though his eye darts quickly toward hers, before back to the screen and the task at hand, the tiniest of smirks pulling at his lip. She likes being this close, and knows easily, he likes it too.

-

Their hands brush, when he hands her a cup of coffee, eyes meeting for just a moment. The smile that comes is easy and natural, mirrored on each other's faces, as Nancy pauses to blow on the steaming liquid while Ace wanders back into the kitchen. Without thinking, she brings that very hand to her lips and wonders.

-

Consistently and continually, she chooses to sit next to him.

At the Claw.

In her kitchen.

At George's house.

In Bess' room at the Marvin estate.

At Nick's place.

If there's a spot next to Ace, she takes it. If their shoulders brush, she feels it. If their knees knock together, she lets it.

Everyone has noticed this pattern, yet not a single one of the crew has chosen to call her on it, though Bess and George's eyes linger on whatever body parts have made incidental contact. One time Nick is taking point on the latest mystery, standing in front of the group and rerunning through the facts at hand, and Nancy's leg is bouncing with anticipation to get the job done. Ace, without a word reaches out and stills her leg, never turning his head to her.

It calms the frantic limb but he doesn't take his hand away, it resting comfortably atop her knee, and Nancy gnaws at the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing.

-

Ace falls asleep on her couch after a particularly late group meeting, and for a moment she just looks at him, all quiet and peaceful. She only means to drape a blanket across his shoulders and call it a night herself, but when she grabs it from the back of the couch, finds herself sidling up next to him before using it to cover the both of them.

Letting her head fall against his arm, with eyes fluttering closed, he stirs.

“Nancy?” Questioned in a hushed voice.

“Mmm?” she hums in returns.

His arm lifts and wrap around her, as she presses closer, head slipping down to his chest. He nods off again almost instantly, but Nancy does not, listening the steady rhythm of his breathing.

-

He's hurt.

Dirty, bruised, and bleeding.

In the woods, because where else do ghosts go when the buildings they've haunted for centuries get leveled in the name of progress? Who else do they lash out at, but a group of friends investigating a case that had nothing to do with them?

George, Bess, and Nick ran off in one direction while she and Ace went the other. Rocks and tree branches launched with displaced anger, clipping him in the back, sent tumbling forward to the ground at full speed. She shouts his name, turning around and nearly struck with a projectile herself, before dropping to her knees to assess the damage.

There's a scratch jutting from his hairline, a thin trail of blood seeping out, the result from his face plant on the ground. Her fingers dance delicately around the wound, not wanting dirt covered hands to give him an infection, and thinks if she's going to clean him up they have to get out of here first.

“Okay,” he groans, clutching the spot of contact. “I'm okay. I just need a second.”

Nancy scans their surroundings, unable the see the phantom, but the sound of a force storming around echoes across the forest floor.”

“We don't have a second,” she warns, grabbing his hand to pull him up.

He stumbles a moment, but she holds him steady, never letting go of that hand as they rush to find their friends.

-

Ace is sitting on the hood of her car, as she comes out of Mrs. Cambridge's house, looking at his phone. The elderly woman was a little paranoid in regards to giving out information, only allowing Nancy inside, but once there proceeded to give up anything and everything she could. Seriously, it had been nearly an hour since the conversation started, and Nancy ended up using the voice recorder on her phone fifteen minutes in because she knew there was no way to retain it all.

“Get what you needed?” he asks upon her approach, eyes lifting from his phone to meet hers.

“And then some,” she deadpans, giving a cursory look back to the house. “Poor old lady must have been starved for conversation, because once she got going, just couldn't stop.”  

Ace laughs, about the slide off the hood, when Nancy steps in front of him. His eyebrow lifts, but he doesn't question the move.

“There's about forty-five minutes of an eighty-eight year old woman rambling about days past on my voice recorder,” she says, pulling the phone from her pocket. “If you wouldn't mind combing through that data?”

“Nah,” he answers with a shake of his head. “I don't mind.”

Nancy smiles in response, looking like she wants to say something more, but doesn't.

“Thanks for waiting,” is what comes out instead, knees brushing the bumper of the car as she steps even closer.

Ace shrugs.

“Nice to have a little me time,” he teases. “Caught up on some emails, played a little AFK Arena.”

She looks at the phone still in his hand.

“Did you win?”

Nancy can feel his eyes on her.

“Not really that kind of game.”

This isn't how Nancy imaged it, kissing him for the first time. Not that she'd been thinking about it, or even dreamed about it once or twice, with all the moments she's allowed herself to move just a little bit closer to him. That he'd be perched on the hood of her car, while she positioned herself between his legs, in such a public display on a quiet street in the middle of a inquiry.

Ace kisses like he listens.

Full of acceptance and understanding.

He doesn't push for more, or take what she's not willing to give, kissing her back as evenly as she kisses him. Purposefully she avoids eye contact when pulling away, forehead immediately falling to his shoulder, but smiles against the sensation of his arms circling her waist.

“That was nice,” he gives quietly.

Nancy laughs against him.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It was.”

[miss-tc-nova]

Five More Minutes - Eraqus x Reader

Hey, you guys remember the Five More Minutes - Brain x Reader story? Well thanks to a CERTAIN SOMEONE, the character for the prompt changed from Eraqus to Brain because Nova is a petty bitch. 

And AT LEAST ONE OF YOU UNDERSTANDS THAT! THANK YOU!

However, I’ve been thinking about this WIP for a while and I put myself out there, so I’ll kinda forgive ffm-non’s heinous crime for now and post Five More Minutes with Eraqus. 

Music Inspiration: Hikari (Godson Remix) by Hikaru Utada

~~~~~

              Rushing through the streets of Scala, I bob and weave between unsuspecting citizens on my way to the theater. Today’s the day—hopefully. I’ve spent the last week trying to get a ticket for this show but it’s been sold out every day. Both my saving grace and the bane of my existence is that they aren’t pre-selling tickets, so it’s first come first serve for who gets to see the show.

              I’m heaving like I just ran halfway across the city—because I did—but I finally make it to the theater. Unlike the last few days, I find myself in luck at the sight of the relatively short line. With excitement bubbling in my chest, I race to join the queue.

              Just as I reach the line, something jumps in my way. I garner the embarrassing attention of several people in the vicinity as I topple to the ground, taking the obstacle down with me.

              Hastily, I pull my face from the white fabric.

              “Oh gods! I’m so sorry!” I say, scrambling my feet and taking the strangers hand to pull him up. “Are you okay?! Did I hurt you?!”

              Suddenly, I hear my name and finally get a look at the young man I’d practically tackled. I know him. While my family does not follow the noble keyblade warrior tradition like his, our magic has been revered so our families have been amicable for years. At least once or twice our year, our families get together for dinner and we almost always see each other at events for the more affluent people in the city.

              “Eraqus?”

              A beaming smile crosses his lips. “Hey! What’s up!”

              Heat surges into my ears. While I’ve been forced to be within proximity of this boy for years, I’ve never been caught alone with him before. He’s certainly cute and, while our parents may not think so, I find him kind of funny. Still, while I kind of know him, because of our families’ differences we’ve never actually been friends.

              “Uh, not much. I was just trying to get in line for tonight’s show. But seriously, I didn’t see you. Are you okay?”

              This kid’s laugh stirs something in my chest.

              “Yeah, I’m good. My friends hit me harder than that in training.”

              The sheer happiness rolling off him is distracting. “I…I don’t think that’s a good thing.”

              “Nah, it’s alright; we make each other stronger.” His eyes glance away. “So, I guess you wanted to see this show too?” An arm gestures to the moving line that we scoot along with.

              “Yeah. I’ve been trying to see it the last few days, but it’s been sold out. What about you? I wouldn’t have guessed theater to be something you enjoy?”

              He folds his arms. “Mmm, I like some of them, but my friends really wanted to see this one.”

              I take a moment to take in our surroundings. “Um, what friends?”

              His cheer is bright and captivating, but even the defeated frown it morphs into is somehow endearing.

              “Nobody wanted to come early to wait in line, but we probably wouldn’t get tickets if we came on time.”

              I nod, understanding the dilemma.

              “So Bragi suggested rock-paper-scissor.”

              Now it all makes sense. “And you lost, so now you’re here to buy tickets for everyone.”

              “Yeah…” His pouting is so cute.

              A small giggle escapes me. “So it’s sheer coincidence I happen to literally run into you today?”

              That smile’s back. “Or! We could call it luck.”

              “I would assume bad luck; you lost a game of chance and I literally ran into you.”

              “Details.”

              And so we keep each other company. The more I talk to the boy, the more I can confirm how fucking adorable he is. His smile is infectious and I find myself hanging on every word, no matter how wild the tale is. I can barely even drag my gaze away long enough to take a few steps before I’m staring at his beautiful face again. Before long, I can already tell I’m head over heels for him. Even after tickets are purchased, we find a bench nearby to continue our chat.

              It only ends when someone calls his name. There’s a small herd of people making their way closer.

              Getting to his feet, Eraqus greets his friends. “Hey guys, what’re you doin’ here early?”

              “Early?” snorts the girl with silver hair. “The show starts in twenty minutes.” Her golden eyes catch sight of me. “Who’s this?”

              I wave to Baldr and Hermod, both of whom I know from similar family social events. They do the honor of introducing me to the gaggle, which is both a bit lighthearted and overwhelming. They seem like a great group of friends to have, despite their differences.

              “It was good to see you again,” Hermod says, leading the mass towards the entrance. “But we’d better take our seats before the show starts.”

              “You got the tickets, right Eraqus?” Xehanort asks.

              “Right here.” He pushes all but one into his friend’s hand before turning to me. “Which seat are you in?”

              I look at my stub. “E7.” The look on his face is disappointment. “Where are you at?”

              “N24,” he mutters. That’s literally on the other side of the theater from where I am and I find myself similarly disappointed with the arrangement.

              “Guess I’ll have to get your opinions on the show some other time,” I say, trying to make the blow a little softer.

              Our eyes meet and I feel myself being drawn in.

              “Maybe we could meet up at that little café around the corner?” he asks.

              “The one with the fancy s’mores?”

              “Yeah! That one!”

              Eraqus detours the conversation with a tale about the time he and went there with his friends and one of them ended up spilling a drink on everyone—pretty sure it was Eraqus by the way he kept switching names. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but laugh.

              “Eraqus, the show’s about to start!” I don’t even know which one it was that yelled at him.

              “’Kay! Just gimme five more minutes!”

              Excited chitchat continues, following tangent after tangent and never with a lull. I could continue on like this for ages, happy to spend hours in his presence, enamored by the boy I never really knew.

              I drag my hands down my face. “And then, because I stupidly thought things couldn’t get any worse, I tried to use a fire spell to dry him off and set him on fire.”

              Eraqus is laughing so hard he’s crying. “Wait wait wait! I remember Hermod came to school with a huge hole in his jacket! Was that you?!” I nod in sheepish shame. “Oh my gods! We thought he got mugged or something! He wouldn’t tell us what happened!”

              “Every time our families get together, our parents won’t let us live it down. Mine won’t even let me join them anymore without asking me to ‘please not light their colleague’s kids on fire.’”

              “And here I thought you were the smart, cool type,” he teases.

              “As much as I’d love to be, I’m actually a total mess.”

              “That’s okay; I am too.”

              “Oh really? I always thought you were laid back and easy going. With our families’ prestige, I was always kind of jealous of how calm you are about everything.”

              “Then you have clearly never seen me wake up late for class.”

              The laughing between us dies down, but before I can make another comment, I realize that he’s watching me. This isn’t watching like two people waiting for cues in a conversation, but watching as if he’s looking for something very specific.

              Beneath his scrutiny, my brain starts to malfunction, causing my ability to speak to take a hit. “Um, I…I’m pretty sure anyone would…would panic if they woke up late for class.”

              “I guess.” The softness suddenly introduced into his voice feels like an arrow through the heart. “But it’s probably not the same when it’s a weekly occurrence.”

              Is he leaning in?

              “No…I guess not…”

              He is—he is very much leaning in.

              “Eraqus.” I can’t even speak above a whisper.

              “Hmm?”

              My heart is pounding in my ears, trying desperately to drown out my thoughts.

              “I think our show’s started,” I breathe.

              “Five more minutes,” he murmurs against my lips.

              Not a single protest is heard from me. No, I’m too preoccupied with electricity coursing through my veins. For a moment, Eraqus leads the way, soft and slow, likely assessing my shock. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what my reaction should be, but my body tells me to just see where this goes. And with each passing second, I’m falling down the rabbit hole with him.

              The world suddenly jars to when the source of my euphoria breaks away. His brows pinch together, concern written across his face.

              “I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice wracked with uncertainty. “I thought—”

              Without asking my head for permission, my hands snag his haori.

              “Five more minutes,” I say softy.

              Our lips connect again and, though I’m prepared for the jolt, I still feel the weight of the world disappear around us. This time, I lead, hoping my confidence sends the right idea to the young man. I think he gets it, happily matching my every move. His little sighs cause my stomach to squirm, making self-control difficult. But there will be plenty of time for the rest later, for now, I want to take my time and get a grasp on how his lips feel against mine.

              I pull away, using a deep breath the calm my racing heart and ground me back in reality. Eraqus, too, breathes a little heavier, and yet he continues watching me as if he’s still fully enraptured. That look is hypnotizing, subtly—easily—luring me in again.

              That quickly goes out the window.

              “Eraqus!”

              Flinching, he whirls back, where his entire group of friends is standing with mixed expression. My blood freezes.

              “What?!” he shouts back.

              “Are you comin’ back to the dorms with us or not?” Urd demands.

              My eyes dart to the sky. It was dark when the show started, but the moon sat higher among the stars than it had moments ago—or what I thought was only moments ago.

              Eraqus’s gaze flips back and forth between me and them. “Did…Did we miss the whole show?!”

              “Yes, you dingus!”

              Hermod gives a soft smile. “C’mon guys, give him a break.”

              The red-head, Bragi, snickers. “Yeah, the kid’s only been dreaming of this moment his whole life.”

              My mouth falls open but I can just see Eraqus’s face burning brightly.

              “BRAGI!”

              “Oops.” The offender grins unabashedly. “My bad.”

              Xehanort folds his arms, smirking. “Ooooh, so this is that cute little mage he’s been crushing on.”

              “You mean that one he always talks about after he visits his family?” Her tone is full of innocence, but the grin on the little blonde’s face is pure evil.

              Oh my gods, I might implode.

              “YOU GUYS!”

              “What was it he said last time?” Urd asks, also basking in Eraqus’s flustering.

              Baldr answers, “I believe it was something along the lines of ‘I would give up naps for an entire year if the gods would just let me have a single—‘”

              “I’LL DO EVERYONE’S HOMEWORK FOR A MONTH IF YOU JUST GO AWAY!” Eraqus yells, waving his arms as if he might fly away from this mess.

              Hermod begins ushering everyone away. “Seriously, guys, let’s go.”

              “Wait! I don’t want him doing my homework!” Bragi protests. “He’s failing like half our classes!”

              Glancing back with one last devious look, Xehanort responds, “Let him have his moment; we’ll just make him do something else later.” The expression softens when he gives me a genuine wink.

              Finally, after instigating all the butterflies in my stomach to the point I might vomit sparkles, they leave. We sit in suffocating silence for an awkward moment. Then, one of the butterflies must’ve escaped into my brain when I suddenly crack a laugh.

              “An entire year without naps, huh?”

              Still cherry red, he looks at me, mortified.

              His floundering gives me the bit of confidence I need to close the gap once again. “And what was it you so desperately begged the gods for?”

              Eraqus’s back meets the wall, but he still puts on a smile, even if it is bashful. “Let’s just say I’ve already lost my napping privileges for the year.”

              “Yeah? So if the gods were to grace you a second time, would that be two years without naps?”

              His nerves seem to melt and those stunning gray eyes glitter in the moon as he watches me. “You gonna stick around and find out?”

              “How long were you thinking?” I slip my arms around his neck, unable to stop myself from twirling a strand of ebony hair between my fingers.

              “Oh at least five more minutes.”

              “Just five?”

              He feigns mulling it over in head. “And maybe five more after that.”

[smol-and-grumpy]

EUPHORIA - Chapter 21

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: Angst, Fluff

WC: 2759

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​ <3

THIS SERIES IS COMPLETE ON PATREON

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Y/N slams the door to Dean’s Impala with a last smile. 

He’s absolutely adorable, wanting to walk her to the entrance and all. Dean has grown up to be such a gentleman, and it makes her regret not realizing that he had wanted to ask her out all along in high school. But maybe it’s better this way? They both had room to grow, had room to think and realize what they want out of life. Sometimes, puzzle pieces are not found until later. Little pieces that make a beautiful big picture. 

She has the feeling that she’s found it. The big picture. The bigger picture to life. Something that gives her a meaning. Someone that values her existence. It’s hard to find, and hopefully it wouldn’t be hard to keep.

He blushed so adorably when she told him that she’s a big girl and can walk that couple of yards by herself. She really is, though. She has survived all these years on her own without him. But she also gets it. Gets that he’s worried that something will happen to her, even though she doesn’t think it will. He might be overreacting. It’s not like he’s a crime lord or anything. He’s not involved in anything illegal. She gathered the information from what he told her and from her own research, unless there’s something he hasn’t told her, but she doesn’t think that’s the case. He’s been frank with her and she has done the same with him. Maybe what happened to the club is just a sick prank by someone who’s jealous of his success. It must be.

Walking along the pavement, she can feel that Dean’s still here. No, she knows that he’s still here, because he hasn’t driven off yet, even though his club is open and he most likely has work to do. He probably watches her through the rearview mirror right now, and she’s about to turn around and stick her tongue out at him when a dark figure approaches her. 

It’s a man, the hood of his sweater drawn into his face and he grabs her upper arm, making her jump. She struggles against his grip, and the hood comes off.

Cole.

“I just want to talk!” He grits his teeth, words spewing from him in a hiss, his fingers bruising her arm.

“You have no fucking right to be here, I’ll call the cops!” Her voice trembles a little, but she tries her best to keep herself together, tries not to break down and let him think that she’s weak. Because that’s what she isn’t. Not anymore.

Cole seems to be mad about her putting up a fight, but there’s something else she sees in his eyes. He purses his lips and hisses some more, “I made a fucking big mistake and—”

“—Hey!” 

Dean’s deep, loud voice cuts through the darkness like a sharp knife. 

They both turn their head to look at the source and see Dean running towards them. Instead of letting her go, though, Cole’s finger dig deeper into her flesh.

“Oh, does your boyfriend think I’m going to hurt you?” Cole whispers in mockery. 

Boyfriend. He’s not her boyfriend is he? She doesn’t know but Cole doesn’t have to know either so she doesn’t correct her ex.

“Fuck you, Cole,” She says in the calmest voice she can muster up because she knows that Cole will only get more angry when she would yell at him, “You’re not supposed to be here. Please leave!”

“Dude, let go of her,” Dean growls low. He grabs at Cole’s hand that’s still gripping her tight.

When her ex ignores him and wouldn’t let go of her, Dean increases the pressure of his hand, squeezing Cole a little harder, and she feels it too, feels Cole’s fingers sinking into her muscles. It’s painful and she has to bite on the inside of her cheek.

Cole’s face contorts in pain and finally he lets go with a pained grunt. Y/N holds her hand over the place Cole touched her, it’s going to bruise, she just knows.

“I just wanted to talk, man,” Cole’s hand is around the wrist Dean just plied from her arm, examining it.

“I don’t want to talk to you, Cole,” Her gaze is fierce on her ex boyfriend. Back in the days when she was with him, she would never have the guts to talk to him like that. But Dean’s right, she’s changed. She won’t let anyone talk down to her ever again.

“Cole?” Dean asks, his voice is loud. He looks down at her, his hand on the back of her neck as he draws her close and crouches down a little to be the same level with her, “That’s Cole? You mean, your ex boyfriend Cole?” 

She nods and notices Dean’s eyes widen, the frown on his forehead deeper now and the fingers on the hand on the back of her neck curls, tips digging into her skin.

“Yeah,” Cole snickers, “The one who was there before you, dude. How does it feel to get sloppy seconds, huh?” Cole’s full on taunting Dean now, “She did everything I wanted her to, man, moaned so sweet too. Still didn’t make her a good fuck, tou—”

It happens so fast. One second Dean’s hand is around her neck, the next, his fist connects with Cole’s face. Her ex couldn’t even finish his sentence. The impact sends him to the ground and he grunts in pain. It’s dark but she can see dark droplets on the pavement.

Dean stands before her, stands between Cole and her, and they wait for Cole to get back on his feet. 

“Fuck you!” Cole curses, pointing his finger at Dean and with his next breath he shouts, “Fuck the both of you!” He spits out his words and she peeks from behind Dean’s broad frame, sees blood running out of her ex’s nose and there’s blood on his bottom lip, too. 

“Go on, call the police, I dare you. I’ll let them know that you violated your restraining order.” Dean’s voice is firm but it’s also exceptionally calm, the bass rolling deep and smooth and it’s strange, but it comforts her, calms her.

For the first time in years, she has the feeling that there’s really someone looking out for her.

Cole spits more blood to the ground before he looks up and grins a bloody grin. He looks like a damn psychopath, “You know what? You deserve whatever’s going to come at you, you fucking whore!” And then he looks at Dean, “And what are you? Her fucking pimp? Don’t think you can get rich with this one, dude!”

“Hey!” Dean shouts out, “I would watch your fucking mouth or I’m going to have to hurt you. And believe me, I’m going to enjoy it.”

Spitting to the ground one last time, Cole turns on his heels and walks away.

They watch him leave and when he’s well out of sight, Dean turns to her, pulls her into his chest and she lets him. Breathing in his smell and letting it calm her. Dean’s own heart is beating fast.

“You okay?” 

She nods into his chest, rubbing her face into the fabric of his shirt, “Yeah, thank you.” 

“Come on, let's get you inside.”

He wraps his arm around her and walks her to the entrance of the building. 

*

Once inside, he accompanies her to her desk and sits her down, says hello to Rufus in passing. 

Dean braces his one hand on the desk and the other one on the back of her chair. She can’t stop staring at his hand because his knuckles are red. 

“Are you going to be okay? I’m going to go and make some phone calls outside,” 

Upon hearing his voice, Y/N stares up to him, “Dean, you’re hurt,” 

He quickly takes his hand from the desk and hides it in his pants pocket, “Nah, I’m okay.” 

“You are not.” 

Quickly, she stands up, pulls his hand out of the pocket and places her hand on his shoulder, making him sit down into her chair. 

“Baby, I’m really okay, people are staring,” Dean mumbles, and he’s right, the people who are still here are staring, but she just can’t find it in herself to care. 

Y/N takes another chair from the empty desk beside her and rolls it towards Dean and he watches her with a frown on his face but he doesn’t say anything, knowing that there’s nothing to say to make her stop. 

Sitting down, she examines his hand and Dean flinches, even though he tries to conceal it but she has trained eyes. It’s red from the impact and it’s definitely going to bruise. She wonders how much force Dean used on Cole. Hopefully Cole has a broken nose, has maybe lost some teeth — it would serve him right. Dean’s hand doesn’t seem broken, he can still use it, so at least there’s that. 

“You wait here,” She says and places his hand on his thigh.

Dean already opens his lips to say something but she sends him a glare, shutting him up. 

“Okay, I’ll wait,” He mumbles and rubs at his face with his other hand — the good one — pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Y/N returns with the first aid kit, rubs some cream over his knuckles and fingers. Dean flinches, but he doesn’t say anything, keeps on gnawing at his bottom lip as he watches her work. 

“I’m sorry, he’s an ass.” She says and looks up to him with a smirk.

Dean snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, he is.” 

They didn’t say anything for a long time until Rufus, who was watching the scene unfold before him, has to take a call. He stands up and walks to the meeting room to have some privacy. She thinks it's to give them privacy as well. Rufus didn’t ask what happened and she’s kind of glad about it. He knows that she’ll spill it to him anyway later, when the time is right.

“I’m sorry, I’m holding you up from work,” Dean mutters under his breath, realizing that it’s past 10pm and she should actually work. 

“Don’t worry about it, you saved me from Cole, that’s the least I can do.” She smiles up at him and sees him blush. Dean’s blushes are the best. 

She stands up to fish the bandage from the kit and Dean rolls his chair back a little, pats his lap, “Come here,” 

“Dean,” Y/N starts to say and Dean looks around. There’s nobody in their close proximity in the open space office, and the ones she can see from her standing point, are busy on their computer. 

“Please?” He tries to pout, and she hates that it looks ridiculous. Ridiculously cute.

Rolling her eyes and exhaling a loud sigh, she goes. It’s only for the effect and Dean knows because he’s smiling like an idiot now.

As soon as she’s on his lap, he wraps one arm around her shoulder, lets it fall down to her waist, holding her there while she works the bandage around his injured hand.

“Why do you want me sitting in your lap?” She asks, maybe only to pass the time and the silence, she doesn’t know. 

“‘Cause I want you close,” He says matter of factly. It gets her heart racing. 

She finishes, makes an attempt to get up, to put the kit away, when Dean tugs her back, making her land in his lap again. This time he hugs his arms around her, lays his chin onto her shoulder.

“He was taunting me,” He mumbles in a deep voice, the bass of it travels from his chest to her back, “Was insulting you. I know he had you first and I regret not trying to find you harder. I regret it every damn day since I saw you walk into my club. He didn’t have to rub it into my face.”

“Dean,” She starts to say, but he continues.

“I absolutely hate the fact that he found you first, and because it’s not really true. I was the one who found you first. I was just an idiot who didn’t know what’s good when it hit him right in the face,” He scoffs, “Shit, I’m getting angry again just thinking about what he said.”

Y/N strokes along his arm, feeling his muscle tense underneath the layer of clothing. She hopes it can help calm him down. 

“You know,” He breathes out, holds her just a little tighter, “There’s a corner in my heart that is yours. And I didn’t mean for now, I mean it in a way that it always belonged to you and it doesn’t matter how many times I thought I fell in love, there was always a quiet corner in my heart with your name on its door. Somewhere I occasionally go back to whenever I feel lonely.” 

She swallows hard, tears already forming in the back of her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hit him in front of you but I couldn’t let him say it to your face. Are you scared of me?”

Letting out a soft chuckle, she shakes her head no, “Nah, ‘m not.” 

Y/N tilts her head to the side, stares into Dean’s green eyes, their noses touch and he smiles at her. 

She gnaws on her bottom lip. There’s a question burning on her tongue and she doesn’t know if she should ask. Gathering all her courage, she asks anyway.

“Do you think I’m a good fuck?”

It comes out a whisper and she feels her cheeks heating up. She doesn’t actually know why she asked. Maybe she’s scared that it’s really not good for Dean and he does all this just because he likes her? It’s not like she’s a sex goddess but dammit, she tries to be at least memorable. Dean’s probably had more women than she has panties in her underwear collection and she doesn’t know, it would be nice if she’d be close to the top of that list, which is a really really weird thought to have at the moment, given the circumstances.

Dean chuckles, his body rumbles underneath, and then he pecks her lips, “Baby, you’re the best fuck I ever had,” He pecks her nose before going on, “Jesus, I’m getting hard just thinking about fucking you again. But it’s not just about that, and you know it. I enjoy being with you. I actually enjoy you distracting me from work. I enjoy being around you.”

“Thank you, I mean, not for the fuck, well, maybe for that, too, I don’t know,” She stammers, and he’s grinning at her like an idiot. She knows that it’s because she’s all flustered about his comment. “Thank you for everything and for fucking me, I guess,” She chuckles herself now, before kissing him. His lips soft on hers. His hands stroking her hair back behind her ear while he deepens the kiss. 

There’s a sound of someone clearing their throat loudly next to them and they both turn their head to see Rufus staring at them, his hands akimbo. 

She scrambles off Dean and rights her skirt while Dean brushes the spit from his lips, a cocky grin now on his face. 

“Uh, yeah, I’ll make some calls,” Dean says and gets up, “When will you be finished?”

“About two hours?” Y/N sits into her chair now.

He leans down to kiss her cheek, “I’ll pick you up.” 

And with that, he walks out into the hall and only when Dean’s gone did Rufus grin at her. That little shit. 

Two hours. 

Two fucking hours that Dean has to do what he plans to do. He thinks it’s do-able. 

If he hurries.

First of all, though, he calls Balthazar because that dude was supposed to have an eye on fucking Cole and he still managed slip away. Dean fucking hates being played. 

Thumbing over his phone he sees Balth’s message just now. 

  B: My man kind of lost him on the subway. He’s headed downtown. 

  Dean scoffs. Yeah, he fucking knows that already. 

He pushes the button and the other man picks up at the first ring right away.

“Is he home?” Dean asks without even saying hello to his man.

“Yeah, he came home with a bloody nose.” Balthazar answers.

“Good, keep him there. Send me the address.”

Chapter 22

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[ri-ahhh]

what about drunk y/n bluntly saying all the things he wants to do to gray and he’s shocked bc she’s usually really shy. ( inspired by the first lines of pu$$y fairy by jhene) “ i like to suck when i’m drunk” “i like to fuck when i’m drunk”

Loud music thuds in every corner of the West Hollywood house you and Grayson walk into for a random party he had been invited to earlier that day. Ethan had chosen to stay at home, but you and Gray both needed to get out of the house, and while parties weren’t really his scene, socializing felt like a better alternative to Netflix tonight. 

Grayson daps up his friend that’s throwing the party and introduces you to him. He seems nice enough, but you barely catch his name before he’s excusing himself to greet some other people that have just walked in.

You catch Grayson’s eye and lean close to shout in his ear so he can hear you over the YG song blasting through the speakers nearby. He smells even better this up close than he had in the car, clean and masculine with that woody undertone that’s just a permanent part of him now. “Do you see anyone else you know?” 

He shakes his head, switching places with you so his mouth brushes your ear now. You’re sure he can feel the shiver his warm breath and too-close proximity elicits, but you’re glad it’s potentially dark enough for him not to see the goosebumps flaring across the skin left exposed by your simple bandeau top. 

“Not yet!” he says, and his huge hand places itself on the small of your back as he lifts his head to inspect your surroundings. His long fingers radiate warmth and calm your nerves a bit as you also take in the features of the house you’re in. It’s big, but not a ridiculous mansion or anything, which makes you feel a little more comfortable about being somewhere that you know literally nobody else. 

Until Grayson speaks again, that is. “Are you good by yourself long enough for me to go piss? I’ve been holding it since I got in the car.”

‘No!’ screams the petrified introvert inside you.

“Of course,” smiles the rational grown woman you pretend to be most of the time.

He grins back at you gratefully. “I’ll be like, five minutes tops,” he assures, moving his hand from your back to your hand and giving it a squeeze. 

You cling to his fingers until they’re forced to drop away with the distance between you, and watch his broad body thread through a crowd of fellow partygoers as he follows the handwritten sign with an arrow labelled ‘bathroom -- you puke, you clean.’ It’s pathetic how much you miss his presence already, but it’s not like this is the first party you’ve ever been to; if there’s any safe place at a house party for the single person to go, it’s the kitchen.

You’ve only made it a handful of yards away from where Grayson left you when suddenly a large someone stumbles into you, his drink sloshing precariously in his solo cup.

“Woah!” he says, holding his drink up and away as he glances down at you, clearly tipsy. To your dismay, some of whatever is in his cup has spilled onto your jeans, but you try to just chalk it up as a party foul without getting too annoyed. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re good,” you offer with a polite smile, brushing off some of the droplets that cling to the denim stubbornly. At least now you have another excuse to get to the kitchen and preoccupy yourself with something until Grayson returns. 

The guy blinks and looks you up and down unashamedly, and you fight not to roll your eyes. He can only be described as a Chad, looking every bit the frat daddy with his Supreme t-shirt, snapback backwards over his too-long hair, and alcohol-induced predatory gaze. 

He offers you his hand, and out of instinct you take it, but instantly cringe at how clammy it is. Being too nice to douchebags is definitely one of your character flaws. “I’m Brad.”

You can’t help but laugh at the irony, because of course he is, but he must take it as a flirtatious giggle or something, because he smiles back at you. “What’s your name? I’ve never seen you at these things before.”

You tell him against your better judgement, and Brad does that thing where he pretends not to hear. He pulls you by the hand still clasped in his and brings you closer to him, as if to hear you better. This time, you can’t stop your annoyed eye-roll, telling him again with finality and pulling away quickly. If Grayson’s closeness that way made you shudder with desire, this guy makes you do it with disgust.

Really, you just want Grayson again. You need him.

You finally rip your hand out of his grasp and give him a tight smile. He starts to speak again, but you cut him off. “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m gonna go find something to clean myself up with.”

Whether he’s just an idiot asshole or because of the alcohol flowing through him, Brad doesn’t take the hint. “Aw, beautiful, I said I’m sorry! Let me come with, and I’ll make you a drink to make up for it.”

“Dude, I literally just told you my name,” you say, unable to help yourself as this guy’s douche-meter hits record highs with that. “Thank you, but I’m good. Please leave me alone.”

You turn on the spot, but you can feel him following close behind. Luckily, the kitchen is only one room over, and even more in your favor, Grayson is already there, shining like the beautiful angel he is under the recessed lights.

He meets your eyes when you walk in, and you give him the bug-eyed ‘save me’ look that you hope translates to boy as well as it does to girl. He cocks an amused brow, but then his eyes fall behind you and see Brad trailing you like a lost, horny dog, and he frowns immediately. 

“Hey,” he greets, opening his arms to you at once as soon as you wiggle through the other minglers between you. You fall into them and sigh in relief, so happy to see him that you stand on your tiptoes and plant a warm kiss to his stubbled cheek.

“Hey,” you return, pulling back and looking up at him with a smile. His eyes are still locked on Brad, who has stopped in his tracks but not walked away. “Brad here spilled some of his drink on me by accident but doesn’t seem to think I’m capable of cleaning up myself.”

“Nah, I was just gonna make you a drink, babe, remember?” he slurs, narrowing his beady blue eyes at Grayson, like there’s even an ounce of intimidation behind them.

Grayson scoffs, and shifts so he’s squared up with Brad. He keeps his arm slung over your shoulder to hold you against him protectively, and you hold onto the hand of that arm with one of yours while you wrap your other arm around his back. Both of you glare at him. “Okay Brad, first of all, don't fucking call her that. Second, what decade are you living in? What girl nowadays is gonna take a drink from a random, sketchy guy she doesn’t know? Walk away and leave us alone, please.”

“What, is she your girlfriend, bro?”

“Yeah, she is,” he retorts without hesitation. Your heart drops, and you look up at him with surprise. His jaw is set tight and it makes his profile even sexier than usual. “Go be creepy with your own friends now. And leave the other poor girls at this party alone.”

Grayson looks down at you and cups your cheek. This whole lie has caught you completely off-gaurd, but you’re catching on to what he’s doing. You nod nearly imperceptibly in consent, and Grayson dips down to capture your lips in his for the first time ever. They're warm, soft, pliant, and perfectly insistent against yours. If Grayson is capable of anything chaste, this is it, but there’s still a heat behind it you’re all-too familiar with. This isn’t a ploy kiss; there’s something there, and neither of you are able to stop now that you’ve started. 

You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue to beg entry, and he opens willingly. His hand slips from your cheek to the back of your head, clutching a handful of your hair and tipping your head back to allow himself better access to your mouth as his tongue takes dominance, just how you imagined it would so many times late at night. 

“Uh, Grayson?”

Both of you are startled apart, and jerk your heads to the female voice just a couple feet away that had interrupted you. Brad is gone, but a beautiful dark-skin girl with piercing eyes the color of cinnamon stands there with her arms crossed and a perfectly done brow arched high on her forehead. Clearly, you had interrupted them first.

“Nadia!” he exclaims in surprise, clearly having forgotten she was even there before he kissed you. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath and you blush when he swipes his thumb across a patch of your saliva clinging to his lower lip. “Sorry. I, uh --”

“You didn’t tell me you have a girlfriend.”

It hurts your heart to do it, but you look at Grayson and step away. Who knows how long he’s been talking to this girl before tonight; who are you to come between that right now? 

“I’m sorry, I’m not his girlfriend. He was just helping me get rid of that gorilla that followed me in here. You know how some guys are. They respect a man’s ‘territory’ more than the girl just telling them no.”

Nadia’s pretty features soften some, and she sighs. “Yeah, tell me about it.” She looks at Grayson, standing there still somewhat sheepishly. “I have to go. Call me when you get...this sorted out.”

“I --”

“It’s okay, Gray. Trust me.” Her eyes linger back and forth over the two of you. “Figure it out, and call me.”

She leaves the two of you with a small but friendly smile that confuses you some. You heave out a sigh. The night has definitely taken a turn for the dramatic, that’s for sure.

You long for a stiff vodka soda to settle your mind, but there are too many external factors that make that a bad idea right now. You’re suddenly aware that there’s still many people in the kitchen, but they're all impervious to two random people making out next to them. 

You snatch a couple cans of ginger ale off the huge collection of mixers on one of the countertops, and hand one to Grayson. He pops it open gratefully and chugs a huge swallow of it, burping into his hand. You can’t help but giggle, and take a more dainty sip of your own can. You still wish it had alcohol in it, but it’ll do.

It’s like he can read your mind, stuffing his free hand in his pocket. “You know, you can have a drink. I really don’t mind.”

You lean back against the counter and look up at him. He’s blushing, from embarrassment or arousal, you’re not sure. You know your heartbeat is still thumping in your panties at the lingering feel of his lips on yours and his hands trailing over your body. Something has inevitably shifted between the two of you, and Nadia was right: you need to figure it out. 

You’re not the most outspoken person all the time, but if there’s one thing you hate more than putting yourself out there, it’s leaving heavy things up in the air. You take a deep breath and scoot a little closer to him. 

“I know. I just...don’t trust myself to be even remotely tipsy around you right now.”

He looks at you, confused. “You don’t trust me?”

You suddenly remember his complete lack of experience with how alcohol can affect more than your motor movements and decision making. It’s endearing.

“I said I don’t trust myself,” you correct with a smile, reaching up to brush his flop of hair out of his eyes. “I liked that kiss. It made me want more.”

Grayson swallows. “Yeah?” he finally says, a little dumbly.

You giggle. “Yeah. Like, a lot more.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and he shuffles even closer so you’re pretty much trapped against the counter and his thick, muscular body. Despite the fact that you’d have a harder time escaping this than you did back in the living room with Brad, you feel more free and confident than ever. 

“Like what?” he asks, setting his can down behind you, planting his hand on the edge of the counter next to your hip.

You smile and allow your hand to rest on one defined pec through his thin shirt. You can feel his heart beating strong and fast, matching your own. It gives you the courage to put it all out there.

“Like... take you to the car and suck your dick; like, have you fuck me once we get home.” You look up at him through your lashes, pleased to see him sufficiently flushed and flustered by your words. “Like, go on a date?”

Your fingers have trailed over the hard ridges of his abs and settled on the edge of his belt, tugging on it playfully. Grayson gasps and looks at you with wide eyes and a disbelieving smile as he snatches it away in his own, bringing your fingers to his lips. “Easy. Wow, I can’t decide which of those I want to do most.” He looks back a little and narrows his eyes. “Are you sure you’re not drunk.”

You laugh and shake your head, taking your hand out of his and wrapping it around the back of his neck. “Nope, that’s all you baby. But who says we can’t do all of those, tonight?”

Grayson smiles brightly, and interlaces your fingers. Your ginger ales get abandoned on the counter as he starts to drag you through the throngs of people. “Let’s fucking go.”

[backwardscapsmh]

here to push the gay hockey coach dad agenda! did i mean to make it this angsty? no. but its angsty anyways. i swear i have the ability to write happy things. maybe next time lol. comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! :)

in another life i would make you stay // so i don’t have to say you were the one that got away // the one that got away

- the one that got away by katy perry 

It shouldn’t hurt him as much as it does: the fact that he’s gone. It shouldn’t sting and fester in his heart, finding a place in between his ribs and never leaving. Him and Hall weren’t meant to be. The sooner he moved on and accepted it, it would be okay. He would be okay.

But he’s lying to himself. Him and Hall had something; something really, really great. And now it’s gone and it hurts. It really hurts. He feels betrayed somehow. It stings that Hall isn’t here with him, but it shouldn’t.

He knew about Hall. He knew about the emotional issues. He knew about the internalized homophobia and the self hatred. And Murray, being the stupid man he was, gave his heart to Hall anyway. Why he thought it would change something, he doesn’t know.

And it didn’t change anything. So it shouldn’t hurt like this. It shouldn’t feel like he got dumped, because there was no relationship anyways. They weren’t boyfriends. Hell, Hall didn’t even think they were close friends. They were just two men who made out after games when they were high on adrenaline, and sometimes hooked up.

And somewhere in between the hickeys, the morning afters, the sneaking glances at each other across the rink, Murray got attached. The kisses started meaning something to him. The glances made his stomach fill with more butterflies than usual. The morning afters started including Hall sitting at his kitchen table, coffee mug in hand, hair all fluffy and going every which way, glasses sliding off his face, and Murray was struck with how beautiful he looked with a halo of sunlight illuminating his head.  And now that Hall’s gone, truly and officially gone, Murray’s kitchen feels less magical in the morning. There’s not another person there with him, and Murray’s not ashamed to admit that he misses that. He misses Hall’s warm weight in his bed. He misses Hall’s shoes by the door. He misses seeing the rare sight of Hall actually relaxed.  Now his apartment is empty. Void of warmth, quiet mornings, and Hall. He’s left with pictures, memories, and his own thoughts. So naturally, he’s sat on the couch, staring at where Hall used to sit in his kitchen and replaying their last exchange together.

_/ \_

It started with a sentence and a decision, like most endings do.

“I start scouting next week,” he hears Hall say. 

It’s quiet in the apartment, even for this neighborhood. So quiet that Murray can hear Hall’s quiet admission. And it makes his heart stop. He knew this was coming, yet it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Hall’s life revolves around hockey, not unlike Murray’s own, which is why they work. He always knew Hall was going to go pro, or start scouting, or even start coaching. That’s Hall’s dream: coaching. So he’s going to start scouting to get some experience. (Not that he needs it. Murray’s seen Hall teach kids hockey. He’s great at it.)

“Oh,” Murray’s voice cracks, so he clears his throat, trying to pretend like his heart isn’t splintering. “That’s great Haller.”

“Yeah.” Murray finally looks over at Hall and sees his lips quirking slightly behind his coffee mug. “It’s a great opportunity.”

“Well, I’m happy for you.” And he is. He is, he swears. But he can’t help but feel heartbroken. Scouting means traveling, and traveling means being away, and being away means a choice between a long distance relationship or an end to their arrangement. Which was probably doomed to end soon because neither of them are in college anymore and thus not playing each other anyways.

“Thanks Murray. I’m glad you think so,” Hall says and Murray’s traitorous heart beats a little faster in his chest. It’s so rare to hear Hall say his name so tenderly outside of his bedroom, and Murray really likes it.  But he can’t get used to it. Because Hall is leaving. Leaving Boston, leaving Massachusetts, leaving him.  They finish their coffee in silence. Neither of them ever make breakfast the day after. Because breakfast means committing. Breakfast means a relationship. Which they don’t have, and now they probably never will.  “I should get going,” Hall says after he’s washed his mug and placed it back where he got it, erasing any physical proof that he was ever here. It makes Murray’s chest ache. “Okay.” Murray still hasn’t moved from the table. Moving feels like speeding up Hall’s departure. Moving feels like accepting the truth, and he doesn’t want that. But he gets up a minute or two later when Hall moves to the door, picking up his jacket and shoes, preparing to walk a few blocks to his own apartment. Murray opens his mouth to say something, but closes it. They don’t usually do this afterwards. They usually just move around each other in silence. Talking means having to define what they are.

“Thanks Murray,” Hall whispers, breaking their unspoken rule of silence. “You’re really great. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” And goddammit, Murray hates that he sounds like he’s going to cry so he squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re pretty great too Haller.”

“Nah, not as good as you.” And holy shit, when did Hall’s mouth get so close to the shell of his ear. His eyes fly open, trying to watch every moment of this. He’s still focusing on their proximity when he feels a soft kiss right under his jaw, then another, and another until Hall’s face is right in front his. Their lips are centimeters apart. Murray could just lean in and take the kiss he so desperately wants.

Hall is faster than he is and soon he feels soft lips on his. Hall pushes a little bit closer, like he always does, unable to separate his personal feelings from hockey instincts. And Murray pushes back with just as much force, his hands gripping Hall’s shoulders like he’s strong enough to force one of the best defensemen he’s ever seen to stay in his apartment. Hall’s hands are in his hair and touching the back of his neck. The hand in his hair is gripping tighter than usual and Murray hates that he likes it.  He reluctantly pulls away, despising his body’s need for oxygen. If he could have his way he’d keep Hall right here in the entryway of his apartment and never let him leave. He settles for pushing forward for another kiss.

It’s calmer this time. Less like their usual pushing and pulling. It feels gentler, softer, like they’re scared the other will break if they push too hard. It feels like goodbye.  Hall pulls away first this time. He doesn’t move too far, just far enough away for their lips to not touch anymore. His breath fans out over Murray’s face and as he looks into Hall’s eyes he tries to memorize his face. Glasses that magnify his eyes. His grey-ish blue irises. The small crinkle in between his eyebrows. His lips, slightly swollen and red. And god he never wants Hall to leave him.

“Goodbye Murray,” he hears Hall murmur, so quietly he barely hears it.

“Goodbye Hall,” he whispers back.  Hall takes a step back, reaching out a hand to turn the door handle. He’s looking at Murray with an unreadable expression. Murray’s sure he looks close to tears so it’s probably concern but he’s too close to breaking into a million pieces to decipher it. He tries to smile weakly and wave a little, but it probably looks sad. Hall nods and with that, he’s gone.

And Murray’s left alone in his empty apartment.

                                      _/ \_

It’s been weeks. He keeps telling himself that he’s over it. But at this point, he’s just lying to himself. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be over it. Not really. He’s lonely and it hurts more than he thought it would. He should’ve known he would never have truly prepared to lose him. He misses Hall. Misses his small smiles that are so rare they feel like a blessing whenever Murray got to see them. Misses his chirps and little teasing remarks when they were together. Misses his spirit, drive: all of the things that will make him an amazing coach. He misses him, as much as he wishes he didn’t.

And he wishes he tried harder to tell Hall how he felt. But he knows it wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Hall would always have to leave, no matter what Murray was to him. That wouldn’t have changed. But a small part of his brain still asks “what if he stayed? what if he stayed with you?”

So he’s sitting, trying to remember how Hall’s body felt next to his, how his lips felt against his, and how his touch burned from the inside out. And it’s okay. He’ll get over it eventually.

Maybe one day he won’t remember how he let Hall slip through his fingers.

[just-jordie-things]

Accidental Naps - Richie Tozier

word count: 1911 warnings: swearing, mentions of weed (?) summary: pretty much the request :)) request: can you write something for richie? reader and him end up falling asleep in the clubhouse and the losers wake them up (a/n) this one’s dedicated to my wife who needed some romantic pining :3

___

“Come lay with me,” Richie called out, making grabby hands towards (y/n).

She looked up from where she was sitting in her bean bag chair, reading one of his comic books.  She pulled a face, because Richie was laying in the hammock, and he’d proven before that two people did not fit, when Eddie had forced himself into the hanging swing.

“Come on” The boy whined again, his arms hanging off the side dramatically.

(y/n) raised her brows, not out of surprise, he was always dramatic, but it was still entertaining to watch him pout like a child.

“It’ll break” She told him, and looked back down at her comic.

“No it won’t” Richie argued back hopefully.

“One of us will fall out- or we both will” She answered, still reading.

“You won’t fall out!” Richie pleaded.  “It’ll be fine, please?”

Her eyes flickered up to his, and when he gave her that big stupid cheesy grin, she knew she was done for.

“I need attention” He added in a whine.

“You always need attention” (y/n) sighed.

She marked her spot in the comic as she stood up, and made her way towards him.

“And you always give in!” Richie told her- like she didn’t already know- and wrapped his arms around her as she carefully crawled into the hammock with him.

She tried to be slow in her movements, but Richie didn’t care if they flipped the swing, so he pulled her the rest of the way until she tripped and fell into him.

“Richie!” She tried to scold him, but she was laughing too much to really be convincing.  “You could’ve flipped the whole thing over”

“Nah, calm down babe,” He shrugged while she got situated.  “Here, I’ll keep it steady”

Richie stuck a leg out of the swing, and since the boy was a tree, it wasn't difficult for him to keep one foot on the ground, so they would stop swinging back and forth.

(y/n) cuddled up against Richie’s side, even though she was already half on top of him, since the hammock was so small.  Neither of them would admit, but they didn’t mind anyways.

“Better?” She asked, laying her head on his chest and opening up -her- his comic book again.

He grinned at her.

“Much” He says, wrapping his arms around her waist, holding her close while she started to read.

He could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, but he wanted to enjoy his time with her.  So he squeezed her tighter and buried his face into her hair.

“That tickles,” (y/n) giggles, her shoulders flinching while Richie only buried his face further.  She squealed when his nose grazed over her neck.  “Richie! Cut it out!” She said between giggles, until eventually she dropped the comic book to the ground, and flipped over onto her stomach so she could lift her head away from his face.

“We don’t hang out enough” Richie declared, and the sudden change in mood made her brows furrow.

She stared down at him, an almost worried expression on her face.  Had she been a bad friend? Had she not reached out enough? Sure the whole gang hangs out plenty, but did she not do a good enough job creating special relationships with each of her friends individually?

“I’m sorry,” The words slipped out rather awkwardly, but she didn’t take it back.  “We should hang out more, but you know Beverly always wants to go to like the mall or something-”

“We can just do this,” Richie said, pulling her back down.    She was laying on top of him now, but again, neither cared.  “Just lots and lots of this”

She grins, shaking her head at him, but she was still smiling.

“I guess I’m okay with that” She mumbled, before laying down against him again.

Her legs tangled between his, and she threw her arm across his torso.

“You guess?” Richie teased, and she chuckled against his neck.

“You’re actually pretty comfortable,” She hummed, starting to feel sleepy as the soft material of his tee shirt caressed over her cheek.  “Even though you’re a skinny ass tree”

When she let out a yawn, Richie grinned at her, even though her eyes had fallen shut.

“You gonna fall asleep?”

“Play with my hair a little and you bet” She joked, peeking an eye open at him for a second, just so she could stick her tongue out.

“You got it” Richie replied, and before she could laugh it off, his hand was in her hair, combing through gently.

She giggled, looking up at him with a dopey smile that she couldn’t bite back if she tried.

“You’re so dumb,” She teased affectionately.  “The dumbest, really”

There’s a blush on her cheeks that Richie doesn’t miss, because the proximity between their faces is so small it’s almost nonexistent.  If he didn’t know better, he would kiss her right now.

He wondered briefly if he did know better, though.

He knew he should say something, because he’s just staring at her like a love-struck idiot -which he was- and it’d been so long now he was blushing too.

(y/n’s) eyes wandered down to his lips, and paused for a moment, staring just long enough for Richie to notice, and for his cheeks to darken to a red.

A beam stretched across her lips when she saw this, and her eyes flickered back up to his.

“You’re blushing” She whispers, and she pokes his nose and then his cheek.

“Yeah well you’re starin’ at me” Richie retorted.

(y/n) quirked an eyebrow.

“And that makes you blush like that?” She asks, her grin turning into a sly sort of smirk.

“You’re frightening, babe”

He was murmuring, and something about the drop in his voice when he used the cute little nickname made her heart skip a beat.  Maybe even two beats.

“I’m frightening?” She asked, confused as to what part of her made him nervous.

Richie chuckled, his hand still petting her hair comfortingly.

“Hell yeah” He said, and her brows furrowed.

“What about me scares you?” She asked.  “I think I’ve always been nice to you?”

“You have,” He told her.  “But unfortunately you’re really pretty, so it doesn’t matter”

Both of her eyebrows raised out of surprise, and Richie only grinned back at her.

“And- and that scares you?” She asks, and she tries to get the feeling to go away, but her cheeks feel hot again, and they must match the same rosey shade on Richie’s face.

“Well, it’s certainly intimidating,” He said, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly.  Her head moved with it, and she giggled at the action.  “You’re a frightening, intimidating, pretty girl”

She giggles again, because it’s the weirdest and cheesiest thing she’s ever heard.

“I didn’t know you thought that,” She mumbled, her eyes drooping a bit as she spoke.  “You’re not actually like… scared of me, are you?”

“No, not completely, I mean, Stan is way scarier than you are, so there’s that”

She laughs and so does he, and the hammock swings them a bit from the commotion.  But Richie places his foot on the ground and steadies them again.

“For what it’s worth,” (y/n) whispers, before yawning, and tucking her head against the crook of his neck.  “You’re pretty too”

“Thank you, babe” Richie chuckles, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger.

(y/n) hums, and her nose pressed into his neck as she readjusts her head to be more comfortable, and Richie squirmed a bit from the sensation, despite trying not to.

“You’re welcome, Rich” She murmured, quietly, and slowly.

He realized then that she was going to fall asleep on him, and was making no effort to try and stop it.  Then again, he didn’t make any effort either.

So he wrapped his arms around her snugly, and rested his cheek against the top of her head and closed his own eyes.

“You fallin’ asleep on me?” (y/n) asked, words a bit slurred, and muffled.

“No, you’re falling asleep on me” Richie corrected.

“I already told you that you’re comfortable,” She argued back.  “But if you don’t want to nap with me, you’re free to leave the hammock Tozier”

He chuckled, and couldn’t help but press a little kiss into her hair.  So small and quick she probably wouldn’t even notice.

She did.

“I’ll nap with you” He told her, and she smiled.

She doesn’t say anything, but her hand falls from where it had been lying on his hip.  She reaches tentatively for his free hand- the one that isn’t tangled in her hair- and ever so carefully slips her fingers into his palm, before slotting in between his.

Richie doesn’t dare move a muscle, until her fingers are perfectly intertwined with his, and then he carefully clasps her hand in his own.

His heart is beating so fast that he’s sure she hears it, or feels it against her cheek, but he doesn’t really care.

She’s holding his fucking hand how could he care-

“Richie,” (y/n) whispers, voice barely audible.  “Your heart’s beatin’ real fast”

“Sorry” He apologizes impulsively, but she chuckles sleepily.

“It’s okay,” She mumbles.  “It’s cute”

It’s the last thing she says before she falls asleep, and he can tell because her hand relaxes a bit, and her breathing evens out.  Richie doesn’t fall asleep himself for a couple more minutes, enjoying this moment way too much.

But eventually his body gives in and his eyes get heavy and he passes out with her, in what they would later describe as the best nap they’ve ever taken. ___

“What the fuck?”

“Sh-should we w-wake them u-up?”

“Are they… together?”

“Oh my fucking god- holy fucking shit- did they hook up?”

“Don’t be stupid, they couldn’t have hooked up in the hammock”

“Well, they could have done it all over and then fallen asleep in the hammock”

“Oh my fucking god.  I’m gonna throw up.  Yeah- yeah, I’m about to barf-”

“Shut up dumbass you’ll wake them up”

The rest of the Loser’s Club had made plans to hang out at the clubhouse, smoke a little weed, play dumb games, the usual.  They’d tried calling (y/n) and Richie, but neither had picked the phone, so everyone got together anyways.

It made for quite the surprise when they got to the clubhouse, only to find their missing friends cuddled up in the hammock.

“Do you think Richie confessed?” Beverly whispered to her friends, lighting a cigarette and smirking at the sleeping pair.

“Doubt it” Stan muttered.

“They’re holding hands though,” Ben pointed out.  “That doesn’t just happen in your sleep”

“(y/n’s) a-affectionate,” Bill shrugged.  “Sh-she p-probably j-just-”

“Can we wake them up now?” Eddie cut him off.  “I don’t wanna look at them anymore”

“You’re just jealous” Mike said, and Eddie stuck his tongue out defensively.

“We’ll just smoke outside,” Beverly declared.  “We’ll let them sleep, and when they wake up, they can come up and join us”

“They’re gonna have to talk when they wake up anyways,” Ben said, heading back to the ladder.  “You know, about their feelings-”

“Disgusting,” Eddie shoved Ben’s back.  “Go faster”

“Jealous” Everyone said in unison.

It only took about twenty minutes before (y/n) and Richie awoke from their slumber.  And the Losers definitely eavesdropped from the open hatch while they talked through their feelings for one another.

___

taglist: @fiantomartell​ @lemonypink​ @darling-egg​

xoxo ~ jordie

[serenlyss]

Parallel

Fandom: The Owl House Rating: G Relationships: lumity, luz & her mom, amity & her family Summary: Luz and Amity have more in common than just their favorite book series. Crossposted to AO3: Parallel

This one-shot is set between Enchanting Grom Fright and Wing it like Witches. I just can't stop thinking about how Amity and Luz are kind of foils for each other and how their families are so different but similar in certain ways. I feel like they'd bond over their respective parental drama. Anyway this show has stolen my heart and Lumity slays me so have some gay bonding.

---

Something’s off with Luz.

It isn’t difficult for Amity to notice. She’s a perceptive young witch; it’s a quality she’s always considered to be a strength of hers, and she knows more than she lets on, but Luz is also notoriously easy to read. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and she doesn’t mince her words--not when she really means it. It’s a trait of hers that makes Amity feel simultaneously warm and envious, but it also means that Amity is acutely aware of every shift in her friend’s moods and mannerisms. Today, it would seem, her balance is especially skewed.

The two of them had retreated to Amity’s library hideout after classes for their now-frequent reading sessions, a tradition Luz had dubbed the “Azura Book Club” despite the fact that Amity’s personal collection is far larger than just a handful of fantasy novels. Over the past few sessions, Amity had begun to introduce to Luz a few of her favorite novels that originated from the Boiling Isles itself, and for the last few sessions, the human girl had been practically glued to her side while she eagerly read over Amity’s shoulder. Amity would swear up and down that the close proximity definitely does not make her so nervous that she can hardly focus on the page in front of her, but if Luz notices her slower reading pace and persistently flushed face, she has yet to comment on it.

This afternoon, however, Luz is keeping her distance. She still sits close enough to Amity that their knees touch where they’re sharing the same giant beanbag chair, and it’s still intimate enough to set off the alarm bells in Amity’s definitely-not-distracted mind, but she’s been uncharacteristically quiet all afternoon. There are no excited comments, no involuntary noises in response to the surprising events happening in the narrative, not even a quiet chuckle at the book’s various jokes and hijinks. In fact, now that Amity reflects on the prior school day and even into that morning, Luz has been kind of spacey and distracted all day. Well, more than usual, and in a different way than Amity has learned is typical of her. She keeps pulling out her phone and fiddling with it, unlocking it with some kind of purpose only to hesitate and return it to her pocket every time. Even now, when Amity turns her head to see if Luz has finished the page they’re on, she sees that her friend isn’t even looking at the book at all, and she’s holding her phone in both hands. Her gaze has wandered over to a shelf to her right, but when Amity tilts her head to get a better look, she sees that Luz isn’t looking at anything in particular at all. She seems lost in her own head, unfocused. From this angle she even looks a little sad, her mouth turned down into a persistent frown that Amity doesn’t see very often.

Amity swallows, contemplating what she should do. Should she play dumb and act like nothing’s wrong, try to smooth things over? She’s never been a very… emotionally intimate person, at least not on the outside, and she doesn’t want to pry into anything personal Luz might be experiencing for fear that it might drive her away. Stop overthinking things so much, she mentally berates herself, recognizing her bad habit and attempting to squash it. Luz isn’t the kind of person to get angry over something like this. It’s Amity who dislikes the prying.

“Um,” she finally speaks up, attempting to grab Luz’s attention. It works, and she watches Luz blink and straighten up in her seat, as though awakening from a trance. Immediately, the sad fog that had been enveloping her gaze subsides, and she musters a meaningful--if unusually small--smile, quietly prompting Amity to continue. Once again, Amity considers playing it off, turning the subject to a new book or a happier, more lighthearted conversation, and again she corrects herself. “Are you okay?” she asks instead, nervously thumbing the corner of the book’s page to release some of her apprehension. “You’ve been spacing out, and you keep pulling out your phone. Are you expecting a call or something?”

Amity’s never seen a person stuff their phone into their pocket faster than Luz. Her smile turns sheepish, and Amity almost misses the flash of guilt that passes through her expression for just a moment. “Oh! Nah, I’m not expecting anything. Just antsy, I guess,” she deflects. It only serves to make Amity more worried.

“Are you sure? You just seem… out of it, I guess.” She turns her gaze down to the book still open in her lap, frown deepening. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, especially if it’s something personal, but, um…” She trails off, feeling the telltale rise of a blush on her face. What a time to start feeling bashful! “W-we’re friends, right? You can tell me if something is bothering you. Because we’re friends.” She stumbles over her words a bit, wincing internally at her own lack of tact. Could she be any more awkward?

Still, Luz does look a bit relieved to hear this, and she nods her head. “Yeah, of course,” she says immediately, with full confidence in the statement. It eases Amity’s nerves every so slightly, but it also brings with it a tinge of disappointment. Somehow the word “friend” doesn’t feel quite right. But now isn’t the time for that, Amity reminds herself, pushing that thought out of her mind for the time being.

Luz lets out a loud sigh and flops back on the beanbag, jostling Amity in the process. “I really am okay,” she continues, her voice more self-assured this time. “I just… I’m worried about my mom.”

Amity blinks, a little surprised by the admission. Luz doesn’t talk about her parents very often; it seems to be a sore subject for her, and Amity doesn’t dare bring it up with her, not after Grom. Apparently it’s been eating at her more than she’s let on, for it to lead to this. “What about her?” she prompts, swallowing back her own worry. She slips a bookmark between the pages of the novel they’d been reading to mark their place, then sets it aside to focus all her attention on Luz. “Is she not responding to you?”

Luz musters up a wry smile. “Kind of the opposite, actually. She sends me texts almost every day,” she replies, an obvious fondness creeping into her voice.

Amity is… confused. It’s obvious that Luz loves her mother, and from what little Luz has said, her mother loves her just as much. “I don’t understand,” she says with a shake of her head. “Do you not like getting messages from her?”

“I do!” Amity says quickly, almost in a panic, like she’s afraid of anyone thinking otherwise. “That's not what I meant.” She lets out a groan of frustration, giving her legs a kick and scrubbing her hands over her face. She’s silent for a moment, hands hiding her expression, before she finally peeks out from under them to glance in Amity’s direction. “Hey, if I tell you something, can you, um, keep it between us?”

Her voice is quieter now, layered with an air of secrecy, and it just makes Amity more curious. Still, she suppresses her inner gossip for the sake of respecting Luz’s feelings. “Of course,” she responds honestly. “What happens in the club, stays in the club.” She recites a line Luz is fond of repeating whenever their club discussions turn more personal, but this feels like an extra weighty secret for Luz to be sharing.

Still, her attempt at humor pays off, winning a genuine smile from Luz, who immediately blurts out, “My mom doesn’t know I’m here.”

Amity blinks, shocked, and is quiet for a few seconds as she processes this information. “Wait, what? How does she-I mean, she knows you’re not home, right?” she presses, frantically trying to wrap her head around this situation.

“She thinks I’m at summer camp,” Luz clarifies, clear disdain for the camp tinging her words. “She’d freak out if she knew I was here!” Guilt starts to take over her expression again, tugging her lips into a deep frown. “You saw her at Grom, right? That’s what I’m afraid will happen when she finds out I ditched her camp. I’m supposed to be learning boring adult stuff, like how to be polite and not say weird things and, I dunno, file taxes? Adults do that, right?” She throws her hands up in the air, huffing.

Amity shakes her head, a little overwhelmed. Sure, she’d suspected something was up at Grom, but she hadn’t known just how deep her rabbit hole goes. “Taxes?” she mumbles to herself in confusion, then gives her head a shake. That isn’t the important part. Staring down at Luz’s expression, Amity feels bad. Luz is obviously agonizing over this on the inside, and has been since the day she’d arrived at the Boiling Isles. Something in Amity really hates seeing the way Luz avoids her gaze, like she’s ashamed to be admitting this. She’s twitchy, too, looking for any way to let out her nervous energy. At the moment, she fiddles with her fingers, crossing and uncrossing them, and picking imaginary dirt from underneath her fingernails.

Amity lets out a long breath, steeling her nerve, and flops back onto the beanbag at Luz’s side. The force of it jostles them both, and despite herself, Luz can’t help but let out a little laugh when she’s nearly thrown onto the ground. She wiggles around to reposition herself, and Amity nearly chokes on a breath when Luz’s arm presses against hers and comes to rest there. She’s suddenly very aware of how hard her heart is beating, sitting so close to Luz like this, but she doesn’t dare move, for fear of disrupting the moment. Her voice cracks just a bit when she says, softly, “Why are you so intent on hiding it from her? I don’t know much about humans, but is it really so bad for you to be spending time here, with us?”

Luz sighs dejectedly. “That’s the thing. Everything about this place, everything that I love, is the reason she wanted to send me away in the first place!” she says. “You may not get it, but I’m not just a weirdo here, Amity. I’m a weirdo on Earth, too.”

“Of course you’re a weirdo, I already know that,” Amity says before she can stop herself. She can’t hide the snickers that bubble up in her throat when Luz hits her on the shoulder good-naturedly.

    “Not funny,” Luz complains, but Amity can see the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

    Amity swallows down her laughter. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not an insult, promise. I like your weirdness,” she admits, hastily turning away before Luz can see the easy blush that comes to her face so often these days.

    She hears Luz laugh softly beside her, and takes it as a victory. “Thanks,” she murmurs. “I wish everyone could accept it like you and Willow and Gus do. My mom sent me away to camp because she wanted to fix my weirdness. No fanfiction, no cat ear sweaters, no fantasy novels. I know she’s just worried about me, but it’s not like I’m hurting anyone! Is it really so bad that I like nerdy things and want to geek out about them?” Turning to look at Amity, she forces a grin. “Don’t answer that. I promise it’s no big deal, it’s just something I worry about sometimes-”

    Luz keeps talking, but Amity is frozen. She hesitates to admit it out loud, but Luz’s words hit a little too close to home for her liking. Flashbacks of her younger self being scolded by her parents crop up in her mind, punishments for silly things; associating with the wrong people, participating in activities they didn’t approve of, ditching her studying in favor of something fun. Instances where her parents had pushed her away from what she wanted and towards their own ideal. It all made so much sense now. “I totally get it,” she blurts out, surprised and astounded that she and Luz, from two completely different worlds, maybe even different dimensions, could have something so intimate and personal in common.

    Luz looks surprised, too. “You do?” she says.

“Yeah, I really do,” Amity echoes, and a smile breaks out on her face despite the heaviness of the topic. Of everyone she’s ever met on the Boiling Isle, only her own siblings have really related to her family’s… complicated dynamic, and Edric and Emira aren’t exactly people Amity is keen on confiding in. “My parents do it too. You saw them, in Willow’s mind. They do stuff like that all the time. I’m a Blight, after all, I have a reputation to uphold on their behalf. If you don’t do things their way, you get scolded, right? Can’t go giving off “the wrong impression” or it reflects badly on them. Your mom wants you to do what she wants, not what you want. That’s exactly how my parents are with me and my siblings.”

Luz is staring at Amity in stunned silence, sympathy clouding her gaze. “Yeah, that’s exactly what it’s like,” she sighs. “It’s hard, trying to live up to her expectations without feeling like I’m giving up everything I love. Is it hard for you, too?”

Amity shrugs. “I guess. My parents are easier on me than on my siblings, though,” she admits, clasping her hands over her stomach. Her elbow rubs against Luz’s in the process, but her friend doesn’t seem to notice. “Ed and Em were under super strict control when they were younger. I guess they coped with it by rebelling wherever they could. They still do.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Mom and Dad still try to keep them under control, but, well, you’ve seen them. They don’t take orders easily.”

Luz giggles softly at this, nodding her head. “I’m an only child. I think Mom feels like if I keep going down the path I’m on, that I’ll somehow ruin my life and make her out to be a bad mother, but it’s not true. I don’t know how to explain to her that I’m just fine the way I am, and that I’m not going to end up a failure just because I still like to read fantasy books.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Amity reassures her. “In the meantime, you can be as weird as you want around me.”

To her surprise, Luz actually blushes at this, her tan face going ever so slightly darker. It’s so unlike Amity’s own pale skin, which could and would turn bright red at the slightest provocation, that she can't help but stare. “Thanks, Amity. I'm really glad that you're my friend,” Luz confesses.

Humbled and more than a little embarrassed, Amity opens her mouth to deflect, but her words get tangled up in her mouth when Luz suddenly reaches into the space between them and takes her hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. All coherent thought immediately leaves Amity's mind, and she's certain that she's red to the tips of her ears from the way her face burns. “N-No problem,” she manages to stutter out breathlessly, and she thanks whatever gods are watching that she’s able to string together a reply at all.

Amity has held Luz’s hand before, but it’s never been like this. She sees now how big of a difference there is between grabbing someone’s hand to help them stand up, or to steady them, or to keep from being separated in a crowd, and holding hands just because you want to. Luz’s palm is warm and firm against her smaller, daintier one, and she’s fitted their fingers together in a way that is decidedly, unnecessarily intimate. There is no practical reason for Luz to make this kind of gesture, she just does it because she wants to, and because it feels right to her. Amity can’t help but admire how brave she must be to make such a gesture so casually, when Amity herself can barely share the same space with Luz without combusting into a stuttering, rambling, disorganized mess. “Did you, uh, want to keep reading?” she asks, her voice soft in the hidden room, but the close proximity means her voice doesn’t have to carry far.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stay like this for a little while,” Luz replies. It’s not often that Amity hears the rambunctious human speak so quietly. Luz shifts to get more comfortable, slipping her cell phone into her pocket and out of sight. Her shoulder presses against Amity’s and stays there as the two of them stare up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Amity had once climbed the shelves to stick on the ceiling.

“Okay,” Amity says, turning to give Luz a small smile. She wonders if Luz notices how red in the face she is. She wonders if Luz recognizes what it means, if she’s known all along, or if she writes it off as some magical quirk or another, oblivious to the way her actions make Amity feel.

Right here, in the moment, Amity can’t bring herself to care whether or not she notices. She holds Luz’s hand, looks up at the ceiling, and feels that everything is going to be okay.

[redteabaron]

tyrion - the giant surtr

“...and you. A small man with a big shadow, snarling in the midst of it all.” - Moqorro 

“Oh I think Lord Tyrion is quite a large man. I think he is a giant come among us, at the end of the world.” - Aemon 

“He’s a bigger man than he seems, I think.” - Garlan Tyrell 

There’s a lot of quotes and references to Tyrion being a giant. In the books he’s got a voracious appetite for food, women, wine, and even ambition, although it is tempered for the time being due to his proximity to and love for his family. But he does have some need for recognition, glory, power - who doesn’t? He is one of the original underdogs of the books, commiserating with Jon over their shared station and telling Jon to accept it so people can’t hurt him with it. He’s among the many POV characters who wants love and respect, and is denied it for one reason or another. 

He’s shown to be a rather capable commander in war, and quite surprisingly brave when met with battle, despite any obstacles he naturally comes into contact with. 

But all the quotes and references to him being bigger than what he seemed to be really got me thinking. He’s more than a brain. On one hand this points to him having a lot of heart and drive. On the other, I like to examine the bits of mythos scattered in asoiaf and all the references GRRM likes to sneak in. 

In the books he’s set to meet Dany, ‘daughter of death’, ‘the mother of dragons’, ‘the dragon’s daughter’, etc what have you, and Dany represents a cataclysmic event of fire and brimstone (blood) focusing in on Westeros (IT). So...is he only a commander? An advisor as he was in the show? In the books he’s surely on the darker side of the gray morality scale, he’s a lot more obviously ambitious in his POV, has numerous revenge fantasies that may just be fantasies (or may not), and has a great appetite for all things. He is/will be Dany’s commander and advisor, but I don’t think he’ll take such a lightly placid role as he did in the show. The setup, imo, is a lot darker. He isn’t just a bystander, he is a major player in the Game. 

But he’s a Lannister, south of the Wall, how the f is he a giant? Just his great appetite? Nah. 

Surtr means ‘black’ or ‘swarthy’ in Old Norse, and while Tyrion carries traditional Lannister coloring and features, that isn’t all he carries. In the books he has mismatched eyes of green and black, and his hair had both blonde and black in it. Surtr is also believed to have originated from the south. 

In both the Poetic Edda and Prose Edda specifically Voluspa, Surtr, the jotunn goes to battle against the gods, locked in combat with Freyr (god of prosperity, fertility, peace, and sunshine whose book counterpart may be Aegon/Young Griff though I don’t believe Tyrion will be the one to kill him with his own hands, but may plan or suggest it and will help kickstart the dance of dragons that Dany will already be gearing up for once Aegon moves to claim the throne, esp if it’s ever revealed that Dany at this point in time has difficulty bearing children/is barren) with a great flaming sword and thereafter brings forth flames that burn the world. He guards the realm of Muspelheim (a fiery realm, home to fire giants), from which he will command Muspell’s sons in the war of Ragnarok and burn the world after defeating the gods. 

Tyrion may not wield Lightbringer or be the immediate choice of Surtr’s role (which Stannis could arguably and obviously fill; he’s black haired, tall as he’s a Baratheon, wields a flaming sword, is associated with flames and has Melisandre at his side but imo he’s a red herring for a greater engine of destruction), but if he is at Dany’s side he won’t need a red priestess or a flaming sword or a tall stature. He casts a very long shadow, and Dany has proven to be warlike, an instrument of destruction knowingly or not. Dany won’t be so easily turned to this or that direction, but as she proved with Daario, when it is something that appeals to her, she can be guided (in the way that all of his solutions were bloody and violent and she preferred those methods to peace which bored and annoyed her). Dany has power (dragons and armies) that Tyrion doesn’t, so they will likely work as one unit at least for a good chunk of time. In a way, Dany will be his flaming sword, and they will set the world on fire. 

The original book canon Tyrion casts a long shadow with a great appetite, and has proven he will fight, and not always with honor (killing his father who was unarmed), and will join forces with a woman hellbent on claiming the iron throne (yet the kingdom is splintered and the north will undoubtedly object again to a ruler that doesn’t care for the north). He will undoubtedly end up north somehow as his marriage to Sansa Stark (key to the North) will be a lure (because I’m pretty sure Harry is going to die during the tourney and Sansa will escape with Mya’s help, heading for Jon). His constant references to the Wall circle back there, not to mention he does resent (and lust for) Sansa for rejecting him (and will likely transfer that resentment to the north for not wanting him as lord if/when he comes to collect on that marriage). He’s not going to just talk and drink wine and fade into the background as he did in the show, or jokingly let things go anymore; as horrid as his family could be to him, Tyrion’s family did help ground him (specifically his niece and nephew and Jaime, as well as his desire to not totally disappoint his father/desire for acknowledgement that would never come). But when he killed his father, that was a sign of becoming unfettered. We’ll be seeing a much darker Tyrion who will have a lot more power on his side, and he won’t necessarily be fettered by family if Myrcella and Tommen die (I hesitate to bank on the Cersei and Jaime being enough). The north will see him come again, and not just for wine or Wintertown. 

“...and later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle made of snow.” - Ghost of High Heart 

I used to think this could only pertain to Littlefinger, but I wonder.

[dusky-dancing]

What Grows in Winter

Rating: T

Length: ~4500 words

Pairing: Felix Hugo Fraldarius / Byleth Eisner

Tags: Mistletoe, Hand Warming, Kissing, Holiday Tropes, Fluff, Pining.

Summary: Fodlan’s coldest winter and a gruesome war greet Byleth upon waking from her five-year slumber, and while an improvised winter celebration is in the works, she’s more drawn to a familiar stability. Surely, whatever grows in the harshest seasons can survive anything.

This is my Felileth Secret Santa gift for Rex a.k.a Smoke n’ Milk! Check out their art twitter if you’re craving some Felileth. I hope you all enjoy, and have a very Merry Christmas!

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Snow made sparring more challenging. Byleth already knew this, but to do so with Felix only a month after she’d awoken from her five-year slumber was much harder than she’d imagined. 

It didn’t help that the weather had been relentless that year, and missing Red Wolf Moon meant missing wolf-hunting season, which would’ve supplied their soldiers and allies with the pelts and meat they needed to survive the cold. The guilt tugged at her mind at all times. So many from both the church and the Kingdom had quickly joined the cause with her name, yet she had nothing to show for it besides barely fending off an Empire assault. 

Perhaps sparring Felix grew difficult because he’d grown stronger, or that Byleth had just grown weaker. No matter the excuse, her chill-stiffened muscles struggled to stay mobile against her opponent’s relentless strength. 

“You’re slow.” He lunged swiftly, barely giving her time to parry his sword to the side and force an opening. His body pivoted with the movement, however, and their swords clashed before she could move forward on the offensive. 

“It’s called a warm-up, Felix,” she panted.

“Maybe you’ll finally buy a coat, or make actual use of the one you already have,” he smirked and sliced at her sleeves that dangled unused from her shoulders. “Or admit that I’ve finally surpassed you.”

“Nah,” she said. “Match isn’t over, Fraldarius, and I doubt you’d accept victory that easily.”

“You’re right,” he chuckled before assuming a ready stance and waiting for her to move first.

Byleth almost accepted his bait out of spite until she felt something tickle her hair. Old habits kicked in, and she spun towards their intruder, which in turn startled Felix. Her sword swung for whatever had snuck up on them, but met only empty air, then a small fishing line. The culprit, a small tuft of twigs, leaves, and red berries, fell to her feet.

“Woah, woah! Easy!” Sylvain yelled from above. The paladin had somehow managed to climb to the roof with a fishing pole without alerting either Felix or Byleth to his presence. Maybe Byleth really had lost her touch.

“Sylvain, what the hell is wrong with you?!” Felix shouted. 

With that, Sylvain leapt from the roof, dusted himself off, and held his hands up in defeat. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you! You two must’ve been really distracted.” He eyed the severed end of his fishing line. “How did you cut this with a wooden sword?”

“What do you want?” Felix asked. “We’re busy, if you haven’t noticed.”

Byleth’s eyes drifted to the small green shrub lying in the snow. “And what is that?” she added.

“Oh, this?” Sylvain smirked and picked it up, twirling it in his fingers. “Glad you asked. Annette and Merci tasked me with getting everyone into a more... festive ...spirit.”

Right, the mages’ mission to lift everyone’s spirits with an improvised winter celebration. The Lions had reunited, as had many of their allies, but Dimitri was far from a kingly state, their supplies ran short, and the monastery’s defenses were unprepared for another Empire incursion. The millenium-old walls had been worse for wear after five years of war and neglect, but their fortress, like their resolve to carry on, held together.

Mercedes and Annette had immediately called for a celebration of Byleth’s return, though she argued they had many more reasons to celebrate. The Millenium Festival marked their reunion, but the decorations, the music, the feasts, and the bright firelight that contrasted with the white snow had been absent. The two women were making up for that now, and most of the Lions had agreed to help. 

“Sylvain, you know you’re supposed to hang up decorations, not flail them around on a fishing rod, right?”

“Ah, but this isn’t a decoration, my good friend.” He tied the bundle to the freshly-cut end of the fishing line and wiggled it between Felix and Byleth. “This, here, is a mistletoe.”

Byleth didn’t know what any of that meant, but if Felix’s reaction was any indication, it wasn’t any good. His annoyed narrow eyes flew open, and his cheeks that surely must have been freezing in the falling snow flushed red. 

“See? Felix knows! I knew you’d-”

“Get lost, Sylvain.” Felix ducked away from the plant as if it was a deadly poison.

“Not until you two follow the tradition.” Sylvain’s unyielding grin told Byleth that he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. Few were immune to Felix’s sudden outbursts, and Sylvain was likely the most seasoned in navigating the swordsman’s temper. 

Despite the dread hanging in the air, Byleth was curious. “What tradition?”

Felix spun around and pointed his glove in Sylvain’s face. “Don’t tell her!” He didn’t address Byleth directly, but nodded to her. “Trust me, you’re better off not knowing our stupid traditions.”

“Great idea, Felix, why don’t you tell her!” Sylvain nudged his friend as his voice nearly sang. Their moods couldn’t be more opposite, but Byleth knew whose taste aligned more with her own. 

Felix grunted. “Let’s just get back to training.”

In their brief repose, Byleth’s muscles had only stiffened by remaining stagnant. And she couldn’t deny her curiosity. “I’m not participating in any weird Faerghus traditions, but I should still know what they are.”

Sylvain’s smile grew all the way to his eyes while Felix scoffed with a look of betrayal. Maybe he wished that she’d push Sylvain to drop it. After a few tense moments, however, he yielded and turned back toward her. Even so, he kept his face turned away from her.

“When two people are caught under a mistletoe, the dumb tradition says they have to...kiss.”

“Oh,” was all Byleth could say in response. If Sylvain was watching her for a strong reaction, he wouldn’t get one. But that was only because her insides were imploding.

Sylvain wanted him to kiss her? Had he chosen them on purpose, or had it just been coincidence?

Did she... want to kiss Felix?

The man didn’t give her time to ponder the sensation any further. “But like I said, it’s dumb, it’s cold, and we’re busy. So get lost, Sylvain.”

“Oh, you’re busy . I see how it is.” He reeled in the mistletoe and swung it over his shoulder. “You two are the first to refuse, you know. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just a sign. A mistletoe is an omen of peace and protection from death. They grow even in the harshest winter. The fact that some began sprouting on the shrubs throughout the monastery is good, no?”

Felix’s face flared red, either with seething anger or pure embarrassment. “Then go find more willing participants and tell Edelgard the war’s over because of some weeds. Leave us.”

Sylvain threw his hands up in defeat. “All right, all right, I surrender. Consent is important, anyways.” Before he pushed the training ground doors open, however, he turned and gave them one last of his dazzling smiles. “You never refused, though. All I heard were excuses.” And with that, he shrugged and moved through the doors.

“Don’t waste that fishing line, Sylvain, I’ll need it later!” Byleth shouted before the doors slammed shut. An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment. Byleth was sure her fingers had fused to her sword hilt. “My hands are freezing,” she said in an attempt to break the tension and turn the conversation elsewhere.

When his eyes met hers, however, he almost looked apologetic. He’d never apologized for his outbursts in the past, so why did he look so regretful now?

Oh. 

Oh.

Her attempt to pull his attention away from the awkward situation appeared to work as he strode over to her and removed a glove. Atleast, it worked until his bare hand touched hers, and her cheeks flared with heat. Maybe it was just because his hand was exceptionally warm compared to hers, or maybe it was the sudden close proximity. Regardless, their brief reprieve from recent events was short-lived.

Felix pulled his hand away quickly. “Well, damn, of course they are. You’re gripping a wooden sword in the freezing snow, bare-handed. Will you buy some gloves already?”

“I suppose I’m not used to the cold.” She leaned her sword against a nearby pillar. Relieved that it hadn’t frozen stuck to her palm, she rubbed her now-free hands together for warmth. “It’s worse this year than I remember. Gloves are hard enough to come by, and I can’t...” she paused, recalling how many at the monastery were even less equipped for the cold. “I can’t let myself get comfortable yet.”

Felix sighed, still keeping arm’s distance from her. A moment later, he offered her both of his gloves. She was in the middle of exhaling warm breath against her hands and froze at his sudden gesture. 

“Here, you’ll get warmer faster, then we can get back to work.”

He’d never demanded that she borrow anything of his before - not his coat, his gloves, and certainly not his sword. But she knew better than to leave him hanging for too long.

“Thank you,” she said before taking them. Her hands already felt warmer just holding the thick hide fabric. His gloves outsized her hands noticeably, and she didn’t miss the chuckle that came from him when the tips of the fingers flopped over. 

But they were extremely warm. Instinctively, she clasped her hands together and brought them close to her face, and she inhaled the scent of pine and sword oil.

Was this how he always smelled?

“Felix?” she asked. He was doing everything in his power to not watch her, but his head turned toward her curiously. “You were right. Traditions are stupid,” she smirked. 

His shoulders relaxed, and a half-smile to match her own replaced the scowl that had been present since Sylvain’s provocation. “I get why people have them, but there’s no point to just follow them blindly.”

“Even if they’re just for fun?” she asked.

“Sylvain should know better than to ask me to do something for fun .”

She smirked, “Yes, but he doesn’t know better than to push your buttons. There, I’d say he succeeded.”

Felix scoffed and turned away. As Byleth’s hands warmed, she realized she’d never really taken the time to notice how much her former students had grown. The one before her certainly had. He was taller and stronger, sure. She knew that enough from training with him, but he’d grown in his own mind as well. He’d hardened himself, likely from the war, yet at the same time his gaze had softened towards her and the other Blue Lions, save for Dimitri.

Maybe his vindication, knowing he’d been right all along about the prince, had brought with it a tragic sense of peace. 

Back when the prince’s demons had begun to show themselves, Felix had been the only one she could approach about it without getting excuses or looks of pity. That was five years ago, though it still lived freshly in Byleth’s memory.

Five years. She’d seen the growth of her former students, but how had their view of her changed during her absence? How had Felix’s? If he’d thought her to be dead, perhaps he’d simply tucked away memories of her next to Glenn and sought out another rival to overcome. If he’d thought she lived, maybe he’d searched for her and had become more concerned and angry as time went on. Felix hadn’t volunteered which side he’d leaned toward yet, and truth be told, it didn’t matter to Byleth whether he’d believed her to be alive or dead. The fact that he was sparring with her now was enough of an answer.

She learned one more crucial piece of information - that the thought of kissing her made Felix absolutely flustered, not annoyed or irritated.

Despite how everything had changed, Felix remained a source of stability for her. Training with him brought her down to her humanity again, away from the realm of the goddess, nobles, and crests. A second thing she learned - the thought of kissing Felix made her flustered as well. 

Amidst the realization, her hands had regained feeling. The growing impatience of her opponent made itself known in the way he paced with folded arms and tapped his bare fingers. Or maybe similar thoughts refused to leave his mind as well. 

There was one way to find out.

When Byleth returned to Felix his gloves, she raised herself onto her toes, leaned in, and pecked her lips onto his cheek. He immediately pulled away like she’d just stabbed him, with an eyes-wide look of shock. His cheeks flushed red, and his sword fell from his grasp.

Byleth had seen Felix do many things when caught off guard, but she’d never seen him drop his weapon.

“Wh-what the hell was that for?!”

She retreated a step, doing her best to maintain her calm exterior. “As a thanks, and a way to fulfill that stupid tradition.”

He didn’t respond again, which made her second guess her own judgment. He’d looked like he’d wanted to kiss her, right? She hadn’t imagined the way he let her borrow his gloves, the way he watched her when they sparred.

“I-I’m sorry. I just thought that...you know what? Nevermind. I should go eat. The cold’s obviously getting to me.” She began to back away, but his bare hand caught her wrist. When she looked back in shock, his gaze was still fixated on the ground.

“It-it’s fine,” he croaked and cleared his throat before finally meeting her gaze. “But that’s not how the tradition goes.”

Byleth paused. Why did Felix suddenly care about the rules? 

Unless…

“It doesn’t work with...just that.” He stepped closer, keeping a hold on her arm. “You have to…”

Oh.

Did he actually want to kiss her? The way his eyes held her screamed yes , with a taste of caution and a lingering question floating within them. So she answered with the smallest nod she could muster, afraid that moving too quickly would break whatever trance they’d found themselves in. 

He didn’t move to touch her anywhere else, but heat flooded her every fiber as he leaned closer and tilted his head to the side. Her eyes closed themselves, overwhelmed at the sight, and then a warmth brushed across her lips. It was brief, if a little ticklish, and she responded in kind before the sensation quickly retreated.

Her eyes remained shut for too long, afraid of the image that would greet her. Would he look happy? Angry? She feared that he may have already turned his back and walked away before his calloused grip on her arm reminded her that he was still within reach. 

Finally, her eyelids gained the strength to open, and indeed the sight would’ve made her heart race if it hadn’t been permanently unbeating. Felix watched her intently, searching her for emotions. Her self-expression was still muted, but he’d become one of the few people who could read her subtle changes, and she hoped that his intuition had remained with him after all those years.

What his eyes communicated, on the other hand, was as clear as day to her. Though he watched her, his gaze was soft with his eyelids hanging lightly. She cursed the snow that fell between the few inches of space between them, interrupting her view. She’d never denied that he was handsome in the same way she’d never deny his skills with a sword, yet now he looked to her almost as a lover would. Not quite open and comfortable enough to freely steal hazy glances, but enough to ask another question.

Is this really what you want?

A question that went unasked, as the words that came from him brought her thoughts to a halt. “Now it counts,” he spoke plainly, as if he were commenting on her sword technique. 

They avoided one another's gaze once again, with his eyes darting down and hers upwards. She scanned the roof, suddenly paranoid that their prior company hadn’t completely left, and swore she saw a second, fresher disturbance in the snow that blanketed the roof. Whether the redhead would earn himself a few more weeks of stable duty wasn’t on the forefront of her mind, however, compared to the man retreating from her.

“I thought you hated traditions.” She turned her wrist in his grasp so she could return his hold, telling him he could stay if he liked. 

Or possibly ask for more.

The thought of kissing him again, fully aware and able to better-prepare herself, erupted butterflies in her chest. She wondered if this was the closest she’d feel to a racing heartbeat.

“I do.” He kept his tone, but his expression held the same question as before. His voice dropped when he spoke again. “But I don’t...hate you.”

She tried to stop the snort that escaped from her nose to no avail, so her free hand came up to cover her face. Now Felix just looked offended, but the way his face continued to redden as he turned away told her that he wished he’d chosen his words better.

But she didn’t. Felix wasn’t the type of man to overthink his words. It was one of his traits that allowed him to be honest and insightful, even if his words stung. Regardless, she knew that I don’t hate you from Felix meant more than the words themselves. 

Her grip on his wrist held firm, and she ran her thumb along the fabric of his sleeve. “I don’t hate you either, Felix.”

He seemed to just notice her touch, for his attention turned to their interlocked arms. Facing her again, he made her the flustered one when he slid his fingers down to take her hand instead. It surprised her how quickly he could turn the tables against her.

“Byleth…”

Familiarity hit her as he stepped closer again, only now his other hand caressed her shoulder, his warm gloves discarded somewhere in the snow. The gaze in his eyes, however, had shifted drastically. Where previously he approached her like a stray cat, now his eyes resembled a wolf - hungry and knowing exactly what he wanted. Her breath hitched, and she managed to rest her free hand against his waist. He was warm as always, but she swore he was shivering. No, trembling.

“Felix…”

Whatever words tried to spill from her were stopped, but not with the crashing of his lips against hers like she’d imagined. Instead, the doors to the training grounds burst open. 

The wolf-like expression before her switched from hunger to anger. He pushed her away sharply, but she took no offense as she’d probably have done the same. Her attention turned to the entryway, where she expected to see Sylvain. She was partially correct, but the paladin wasn’t alone. 

Ashe ran to the front and nearly collapsed into the snow, out of breath. “You aren’t going to believe this, Professor! I was scouting and-”

“Slow down, Ashe, you’re hyperventilating!” Mercedes patted his back and offered him water. Indeed, his face was beet red, and his breathing short. He panted as if he’d just run several miles up the mountain, which would be true if he’d been scouting.

“Let me finish.” He took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Professor, we won’t have to worry about blankets and pelts this winter, because a herd is approaching! A herd of...llamas!”

The surprise threw Byleth in many different mental directions. She suddenly became aware of her and Felix’s state. They’d tried to appear as if they’d just been sparring like any other day, yet their bare hands, long-abandoned swords, and fresh shoeprints in the snow gave away their close proximity only moments ago. She quickly scanned the crowd to see if anyone had picked up on those details. Ashe, though a skilled scout, was too winded and had let his senses drop within the safety of the monastery. Mercedes and Annette hadn’t noticed. So that just left-

Sylvain didn’t even try to hide the grin plastered on his face. He stood unnoticed in the back of the group, just so only Felix and Byleth would catch his gaze. Byleth felt heat rise to her face, but retained her well-practiced stoic facade. Felix, however, failed to hide his flustered annoyance, and his face grew brighter with every second. Luckily for him, the other students were only looking for their former professor’s reaction.

“We’ve never hunted those before,” Byleth said.

“You don’t hunt them!” Annette jumped to gain everyone’s attention. “You shepherd them and use their fleece to make blankets! They can even protect themselves and other livestock from wolves!”

“I don’t recall llamas being around when I was teaching.”

“They’re native to south Fodlan, where the climate is a little more friendly to them.” Sylvain finally broke his painfully teasing silence. “I guess the combination of the war in Alliance and Empire territory with the thinning human population around here drove them this far north.”

“That’s great news.” Byleth managed a small smile. One of her burdens - helping her friends and comrades survive the brutal winter - had been lifted. 

“Yes!” Annette beamed. “No one will be cold this year!”

“Does this mean we’ll have to cancel our winter festival?” Mercedes asked.

For whatever reason, they looked to Byleth for an answer. She found the gesture sweet, that they still looked to her for guidance or permission for things she was barely involved in. 

She already knew her answer, yet still scanned their faces. Annette and Mercedes begged with their eyes, and she resisted chuckling at their collective adorable nature. Ashe was beginning to regain his strength, seeming to just notice the other people present. It wouldn’t be long before he’d realize the awkwardness of the situation he’d just barged in on. 

Sylvain looked to her curiously. She and Felix had practically cursed holiday traditions earlier, though Byleth had nothing against holidays or celebrations themselves. He was scanning her to see if she’d prioritize fun or practicality.

Well, why not both?

Finally, she turned to the man beside her. Felix waited for her reaction as well, though he’d probably only taken in half of the conversation. The flush of his cheeks had begun to subside, and he shot her a half-smile with folded arms. He knew the answer she was about to give, and was savoring the wait as much as she was.

“Of course not.” She could practically feel the collective sigh and smiled before facing the rest of her audience. “There are plenty of hands looking for busy work. I don’t see why we can’t handle both. Marianne is good with animals, so I’ll appoint her to lead.”

“We should clear a pasture for them, so they’ll know where a safe place is,” Annette added.

Ashe just laughed, seemingly still in disbelief of the day’s events. He definitely wasn’t the only one.

“Oh this is wonderful!” Mercedes clasped her hands together. “I hope they’ll come back next year, and the year after that! Imagine if it were safe enough to let children see them!”

“If they do, we’ll make it a-” the last word caught in Byleth’s throat, and her attention was immediately drawn to Sylvain’s smirk, somehow even larger than earlier. She swallowed and cleared her throat, looked to Felix, then back to Sylvain, and finished her thought, “-a tradition.”

Sylvain snickered, which confused everyone but the swordsmen. Felix’s flush quickly returned. It really wasn’t that hard to get a rise out of him, was it?

“Changed your mind on traditions, Professor?” Sylvain asked with his hands on his hips. “Could it be because some of them might work-”

“We got damn lucky,” Felix interrupted, letting loose his thoughts for the first time in this conversation. “You said it yourself: the war, the low population - that drove them here. Not your stupid mistletoe.”

“Oh, you took out the mistletoe!” Mercedes exclaimed. “You’re the best, Sylvain!” 

“Just doing my duty.”

“Wait.” Annette tapped her chin. “Did Felix actually kiss someone!”

Byleth had done her work to keep the attention off of Felix thus far, but now he’d thrown himself to the wolves. Even Ashe’s eyes lit up. Byleth couldn’t help her amusement.

“No!” Felix shouted and stomped off to gather his sword. No one stopped him.

Sylvain, despite the endless dancing on Felix’s thin ice, came to his friend’s aid. “Alas, even I cannot get Felix to kiss anyone.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

“What about you, Professor?” Mercedes asked. “Did you kiss anyone?”

“I’m not kissing anyone who still calls me ‘Professor.’” Also not a lie, since Felix hadn’t addressed her by that title since their reunion.

“Good point,” Mercedes giggled. “I just can’t bring myself to call you by your first name yet.”

“Yeah,” Annette said. “You’ll always be our professor, first and foremost.”

“Well, someone’s kiss brought survivability to the monastery, that’s all I’m saying.” Sylvain shrugged his shoulders and shot both Felix and Byleth winks from the back. 

Byleth could practically feel the heat radiating off of Felix, compared to the chilled falling snow around them. Luckily for them, Sylvain pushed it no further. Unluckily for them, the rest caught on.

“Felix, are you okay?” Mercedes asked. “You look like you’re catching a cold.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. “Just want to get back to training. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in a war.”

“I suppose we should go count the herd’s numbers,” Ashe said, “and start learning how to use their fleece.”

“Oh! I’ll come!” Annette skipped after him. 

Mercedes eyed Felix suspiciously, not in the way Sylvain had, but like a concerned mother. She looked to Byleth, almost to communicate, make sure he takes care of himself , and Byleth affirmed her with a nod. Sylvain was the last to leave, simply offering the pair one last wink and a salute before closing the doors to the training grounds.

Being alone with Felix once more, they couldn’t ignore what had happened. Her exposed skin suddenly forgot all about the cold, and the supposedly fearless Ashen Demon couldn’t bring herself to look in the eyes of the man who’d kissed her.

“I should go, too,” she said. “I need to ask Marianne to take on her role and...other things.”

Felix was silent as she retrieved her training sword and hung it on the weapon rack where it would be protected by the roof’s overhang. 

Perhaps he was still as flustered as she was, or he’d lost his courage to act. Or perhaps...he’d regretted it all.

Before she reached the large double doors, however, a firm hold pulled at her wrists and spun her around. Amber eyes met hers again, with a familiar hungry expression. 

“Before you go,” he hummed, only audible by their proximity, “just know that I…”

He took a moment to search for the right words, his darting pupils betraying his thoughts. In the end, he gave up on talking and simply kissed her. Damn him for catching her off-guard again, but she wouldn’t hesitate a second time. She pulled her wrists free in favor for grasping his fur collar. Soon she felt his hands at her waist, and knew he wouldn’t retreat.

So warm. He was so warm, and suddenly surviving the harsh war-torn winter didn’t feel so improbable.

[hopeisour4letteredword]

proof of patience ch1

Summary: In which Flynn grows a beard, and Yuri tries really hard to be a good boyfriend, even when he’s tired. Flynn tries... a little less hard.

Read it here or check the notes for the link to AO3.

Yuri climbs in through Flynn's window just after dawn, and Flynn is nowhere to be seen. Shit. Yuri is on a healthy distraction mission. He was hoping he'd have time to ambush Flynn before he got started on his day.

"That dumbass better not be working at this hour," he says to himself, swinging his legs in from the windowsill to climb fully into the room.

"The dumbass is in the bathroom," Flynn calls, muffled through the door. Oh. Oops.

"Cool, thanks. I'll wait out here. Snoop through your stuff."

"You can come in," Flynn says. "I'm just about to shave."

"Shave away the hours of your youth?" Yuri opens the bathroom door enough to peek inside. Flynn, standing in front of the mirror, glances over to give him an indulgent smile that Yuri is going to stubbornly pretend does nothing to his heart, thank you very much. The contents of his shaving kit are spread haphazardly across the countertop. "Why are you shaving at dawn?"

"So I don't turn up at my morning meeting looking disheveled," Flynn says. He goes back to arranging his shaving setup. Yuri slips fully into the bathroom, closing the door behind himself, and hops up to sit on a clear space of counter. It leaves him in arm's reach of Flynn. He exercises this ability by reaching up to pat Flynn's jaw and scratch his fingernails through the short, stiff hair. Flynn's eyelashes flutter closed as he leans into the touch. "Mm. That's nice."

"You've missed a few days," Yuri says. Probably more like a week, at least. He doesn't like that, less because of how Flynn looks and more because... well. If Flynn isn't even finding the time to shave, what else is he skipping? "Busy, are you?"

Flynn cracks an eye open. "Did Hanks send you to yell at me again?"

"He didn't send me, but he might have tipped me off that you've been working too hard."

Flynn puts his shaving soap to the side; his arrangement is completed now, but instead of starting his shave, he turns to Yuri. He strokes his knuckles along Yuri's cheek. "Hanks knows damn well what he's doing when he makes you worry about me. Don't make excuses for him."

"Grouchy," Yuri murmurs. He lets his own hand fall from Flynn's face. "Who's worried? Not me."

Flynn makes the same soft, amused sound he always makes when Yuri tries to deflect accusations that he cares. He rubs a thumb over Yuri's cheekbone. "So you climbed through my window at dawn to check up on me for completely non-worried reasons?"

"Check up on you? Psh," Yuri says. He kicks out a leg, hooking it around the back of Flynn's thigh to try to pull him closer. "Nah. I'm just here to catch you alone so we can fool around. Totally for my own benefit."

"Uh-huh," Flynn says, unimpressed. He lets Yuri's heel drag uselessly across the back of his thigh, unmoved. "At dawn."

"I would say I just know what I'm dealing with, but I did actually think you'd be in bed for at least a little longer. So really you're even worse than I was accounting for."

"I've got a long day today," Flynn says. "I wanted to get a head start on it."

"When's your meeting?"

"...Eight. But I wanted to meet with the Captains before we—"

"At what time?"

"Seven thirty."

"You need two hours to shave?"

"Like you know anything about how long it takes to shave," Flynn huffs. He pinches Yuri's smooth cheek. "Babyface."

Yuri mock-snaps at his fingers. Flynn snatches his hand back. "Don't be jealous just because I don't need to worry about accidentally slitting my own throat."

"Those of us who are actually capable of patience don't have to worry about that," Flynn counters. Fucking finally, he leans in to give Yuri a gentle, chaste kiss on the mouth. Yuri closes his eyes as he presses back into it.

"Can be patient," he mumbles, against Flynn's lips. Flynn huffs a disbelieving laugh.

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hm."

"In that case," Flynn says, pulling back—when Yuri blinks his eyes back open, he's smirking. "You can wait until I'm done shaving to have your fun."

Yuri groans over-dramatically in defeat, letting himself slump back against the wall. He doesn't mind that much, really. He is tired from getting up for this. He wishes Flynn wasn't up so damn early, burning the candle at both ends, but he's definitely not about to go back to sleep now, so there's not much Yuri can do about that one. And Flynn saying he has to wait to have his fun is as good as a promise that he will be having his fun, which means Yuri can hack out whatever chunk of time before his meeting Flynn would have spent rereading every report under the sun that was even tangentially relevant. That's Yuri's time, now. He can force Flynn to relax for a few minutes.

Anyway, it's not all that bad to wait quietly in Flynn's space while he shaves. It's peaceful, and his soap and aftershave smell nice, and at least Flynn is doing something to take care of himself. Yuri won't admit it out loud, but he likes the slivers of domesticity they manage to wring out of their busy lives. He basks in Flynn's proximity, watching as he rinses and lathers his face. He might zone out a little. He doesn't think he dozes off; his eyes are open and he's awake. That's how he can appreciate the moment, after all. Aside from their breathing, the only sound is the splash of water whenever Flynn rinses the razor between strokes.

"Maybe I should just grow it out," Flynn says, thoughtfully, as he drags the razor along the curve of his jaw. Yuri's not really listening, nodding along as he watches the lather and stubble disappear and leave smooth, soft skin in their wake. "Not have to deal with shaving for a while. That might be more convenient."

Yuri makes an absentminded sound of agreement. After a second, his brain kicks back into gear, and he frowns. "Pretty sure people with beards still have to do some grooming."

"Hm. I suppose it depends on the look you're going for."

"Well, I'm pretty sure people with beards who want to look reputable have to do some grooming, oh great Commandant."

Flynn grins as he pauses to rinse his razor again. "I don't know, some people are into rugged beards, aren't they?"

Is he actually considering this?

"Are you serious?"

"Not about not grooming," Flynn says. He still has a faint smile as he resumes shaving. He's almost done with one side. "I might be serious about the beard. What's your opinion?"

"My opinion?"

"Yeah. Do you think it would be an improvement?"

What would Flynn look like with a beard? He never tried growing out his facial hair when they were teenagers, or ever, that Yuri knows of. The short fuzz he's shaving off right now is about as long as Yuri's ever seen on him. How would a full beard look? Would it be the lighter blond hair that's on the top of Flynn's head, or the dark gold of his eyelashes? How would it change the shape of his face? That probably depends on the style he would wear it in... Why would Flynn want to grow a beard? Is this another attempt to present himself as mature, as a young man in a position of high authority? Did Finath have a beard when they were kids and Yuri's just forgotten about it? At least if he had, Yuri would have some frame of reference for how it would look on Flynn. But no, he realizes abruptly, he doesn't actually want to think about Flynn's dad when he's trying to decide whether Flynn would look hot with a beard; that's no good at all.

Scrambling for a safe answer, Yuri manages, "I like your face just fine the way it is."

Flynn blinks, then beams at him and ducks close unexpectedly to rub his nose against Yuri's. Yuri's startled inhale gets him a mouthful of lather from the side Flynn hasn't shaved yet. "Aww, Yuri. That's sweet."

"Flynn—Flynn, ew—" Yuri splutters, shoving him away and leaning across the counter to spit in the sink. Turns out the mouthfeel and flavor of soap has not improved since Hanks washed out his mouth for swearing when he was a kid. "Bleh—you got soap in my mouth! Gross."

When Yuri glances up again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Flynn looks entirely too entertained. "I like your face the way it is, too."

"I like your face a lot fucking less right now," Yuri grumbles, retreating back to his corner of the counter with a scowl. "Jerk."

"Just trying to liven things up for you. I thought you were starting to look a little bored."

"Getting soap in my mouth is not a cure for boredom!" And he wasn't bored in the first place, but he's not about to tell Flynn he's content just to be enjoying his company.

"Seemed exciting to me."

"I'm leaving," Yuri complains, and makes no move to go anywhere at all. Flynn laughs and brings the razor back to his face. "You don't deserve my intervention."

"For my work habits or for the beard?"

"Grow a beard if you want a damned beard. You don't need my permission. It's your face."

"You're the one who has to kiss this face, though."

"I don't have to," Yuri says, and has no fucking idea whether he means that as a threat or a reassurance. Both, possibly. "And your dashing good looks don't hurt, but they aren't the primary reason I do it, so do what you want."

Flynn makes a face that suggests he wants to shower Yuri with more affection for that one, but he restrains himself. Thank the gods. Yuri doesn't want another mouthful of soap. He leans back against the wall and tries to ignore the faint aftertaste in his mouth as Flynn steadily shaves the other side of his face. At least he's not in danger of dozing off again. He feels fully awake now.

Finally, Flynn ducks down to thoroughly rinse away the last of the lather. Face still dripping into the sink, he reaches over to nudge Yuri without looking. "Pass me a towel?"

Yuri passes him the towel. Flynn carefully pats his face dry, and the next time he reaches over to nudge Yuri, Yuri shoves a new towelette into his hand before he can make contact. Flynn snorts fondly as he covers the bottle of aftershave with it and tips some out to soak into the fabric.

"Sure you aren't impatient?"

"I'm just being efficient," Yuri says, reasonably. "I already knew what you were going to do next. Why bother waiting for you to ask for it?"

"You've never been efficient a day in your life," Flynn says, wiping his jaw with the aftershave in easy, practiced motions. Then, in a spectacularly low blow, he says, "I mean, remember when you tried to fix the plumbing for the Lower Quarter?"

"Shut up, geez." Yuri kicks him, lightly. Like the ordeal with the aque blastia even counts. "I can't believe I got up early for you to be mean to me."

"I know. You could've just as easily waited until evening for me to be mean to you." Flynn tidies away the components of his shaving kit quickly, then sets it aside to give Yuri his full attention. As he leans in, he murmurs, "Glad you didn't, though."

"Oh?"

"Mm. Great start to my morning." He eases Yuri into a slow kiss, drawing back just enough to add, "Much nicer than shaving alone."

"I can think of some other more interesting ways to spend your morning than shaving alone," Yuri says, and when he hops down from the counter to pull Flynn back into the bedroom, Flynn follows easily.

Yuri's got other things to think about after that, and he forgets all about most of the conversation. Why would he remember it? He and Flynn say all kinds of nonsense to each other as banter. It's not like it will come up again, right?

[kisskissbanggang]

Young Wings

[6.8K Words/20min. Read -- Pilot!Bang Chan x Female Reader -- Fluff, Smut, Developing Relationship, Nervous Situations, Pantyhose, Grounded Flights]

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For all intents and purposes, you were having a pretty great morning, considering it was starting at 9:00 p.m. local time. Sea-Tac was a nice airport; not quite as nice as PDX with its straightforward layout and proximity to the city, but infinitely nicer than anything south of there on this coast. The new spinner luggage your parents had sent you for Christmas was still working like a dream, gliding over pavement and not getting stuck in escalator platforms. It also expanded, would come in handy on the off-chance you used a voucher to Miami and got to peruse the duty-free and discount shops not far from the airport (or from the beach.) You wouldn’t have many more mornings like this. This was your last month in the skies. Next month, you were starting a sparkling new desk job in administration. The idea sort of scared you, but the idea of leaving behind 9:00 p.m. mornings did sound nice. Nevertheless, you couldn't shake this prematurely homesick feeling, that leaving the skies would weigh on you like you were literally grounded. 

You grabbed a latte in your reusable mug from the only business still open for the night near your gate, a lonely and frazzled barista smiling gratefully at your tip as she wished you a good flight. There was no reason to doubt her -- it was going to be a good flight. You relished your opportunities to lead your cabin crew, especially on smaller flights where it was more like being with three friends for six hours. Even adding two more flight attendants made it feel more like being a club president, and always added an extra percentage of pressure. A nice, easy-going red-eye, a low pressure nonstop from Sea-Tac to Newark: a perfect start to your week. 

The gate was easy to spot, not only from having been through this airport multiple times, but from being the only gate overflowing with sleepy yuppies and bored college students. You held a quick huddle on the jet bridge, your small crew bright-eyed and as awake as they could manage. Veronica from San Francisco and Brian from Virginia had flown with you before, but Tia from D.C. was a new face and apparently only on her third month in the skies. You did a quick run-down of tasks before leaving Ronnie and Brian to make announcements and take tickets, before leading Tia down the jet bridge to help you set up before seating began. 

You wheeled your bags all the way back to the galley, stowing your luggage in the crew’s storage and getting a lay of the land on your way back up the aisle. Obviously, you'd been on plenty of airplanes, and an A320 was your bread and butter but, regardless, eyeing the bathrooms and emergency exits as your hands brushed the seat backs on your walk up the single aisle felt good. Plenty of people had their rituals, and yours just helped reinforce that even though this was work and work was hard, that people depended on you to do your job well. Really, the little ritual helped you love your job more with each flight. All in all, you would miss every part of it, the great with the awful. 

The intense musk of Aqua Velva hit the top of your sinuses like you inhaled water at the pool when you entered the cockpit, but it was the edge of menthol cigarettes that let you know who your pilot was before he even turned around. 

“Hey, Jay,” you greeted. 

“Hiya, kid,” he grinned back. 

Jay was nice, almost too nice for New Jersey, and you should've guessed he’d be here for a medium-haul back to Newark. The co-pilot, however, was new. Incredibly new. The young pilot slipped his cap off as he settled in and shrugged his jacket off, brushing his fingers back through soft waves of bleached blonde. His half-smile more resembled a smirk, with a small dimple in his cheek to boot. You knew the type. He probably started telling girls he was a pilot the moment he got out of high school. Probably bought all his flight time and didn’t have to waste time teaching to get more. 

“First Officer,” you nodded cordially, and he gave a friendly wave. That was a good sign. Some of these guys liked to imagine that they were a celebrity, even sitting on the right side. 

“Chan here is a baby,” Jay heartily laughed and slapped him on the back, “he might as well  just got his hours in. Lucky this isn’t his first day.”

“Right?” Chan chuckled lightly. 

“No, I mean for us,” Jay erupted into laughter, his head leaned back as he slapped the poor guy on the back again, “Nah, kid, I'm just kidding. It’s gonna be a good flight.”

“You’re in really good hands,” you nodded reassuringly. It was true. Jay was from a dying breed, a veteran that got his wings flying in the Air Force -- only, when his breed was first introduced, they’d flown props in Germany, not jets in Vietnam like he did. Regardless of how you felt about his role in it, you had to admit it gave the older man some grit, and a cool head under pressure probably since he first started. 

“Let the kid greet the passengers with you,” Jay suggested, “we're looking at a fifteen minute delay while we finish de-icing, and we'll get the pre-flight done with plenty of time. I never get to greet passengers pre-flight. And can I please get a coffee before take-off? Last I tried getting it myself Ronnie damn near bit my head off. ”

You couldn't say no, right? Not without looking like an absolute jerk. Chan stood tall next to you, his cap back on because the couple of kids on the flight would love it. A few regulars greeted you by name, already half-asleep. More reasons to love red-eyes: almost the whole cabin is out cold, even more so in the winter, it seemed. Almost no one to demand colder soda with less ice or not-so-secretly pinch you as you passed by in the aisle. You looked back over at the First Officer. He really couldn't be much younger than you -- he could really even be older than you -- but Jay was right. He was a kid as far as career time went. 

Your crew was batty as you finished the safety spiel and joined them in the rear of the plane. 

“Who's the new guy?” Brian asked as he buckled himself into the jumpseat. 

“An actual fetus,” Ronnie rolled her eyes, “did he hit on you?”

“Is he nice?” Tia asked curiously. 

“First Officer Chan is nice,” you assured everyone, “and Jay is up there handling everything, anyhow.”

“The Captain called me Kid,” Tia raised an eyebrow as she quietly grabbed some snacks out of her bag. 

“He calls everyone Kid,” Ronnie waved her off, “he only stopped calling himself Papa Bear a couple years ago.”

“Weird call sign, right?” Brian asked as he carefully sipped from his coffee during taxi. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, “but I've heard worse. He swears he got the name after saving some kids.”

“Really?” Brian laughed, “he told me it was from keeping a grunt with a broken leg safe in the jungle for three days until help arrived.”

You all shared a hushed giggle fit during take-off. Once you hit altitude, you unbuckled, grabbing Tia and leading her with you to First Class to take drink orders while Ronnie and Brian handled Economy. You made a big show out of taking a vote on whether or not to turn the cabin lights off, and wished everyone a goodnight when a unanimous amount of hands shot up. You rounded up drink orders from the few passengers still awake and reconvened in the rear of the plane to grab everything. Drink service now, then snacks halfway through, then cleanup at the end. Tia was thankfully adept with the beverage cart, careful not to knock any ankles on her way up and down the aisle. Everything went by breezily, satisfying you to no end as you locked up the carts in the galley and buckled back in. Thankfully, you might even be able to catch a brief nap before snack service. You slipped off your low heels, stretching your toes as you closed your eyes and let the pitch and roll of the plane carry you to sleep. 

The sensation that awoke you was something you’d only been familiar with in bed -- the distinct feeling of surprising yourself awake. The plane was rumbling through some turbulence. You sighed as you checked your watch and nestled back into your seat, grumbling about being woken up as the plane rocked hard again. More grumbles sounded down the aisle as some other passengers were awakened. You quickly unbuckled, getting up to press the seatbelt sign and get a look around before you sat back down. The cabin jostled and shook, making it difficult to fall back asleep. This would be hard to miss, you decided. The moment you were finally able to close your eyes, you were rudely awakened once again by another distinct sensation -- this time of falling in a dream, the sheer drop in your stomach feeling eerily familiar. Only problem was, you were falling. 

You couldn’t be sure how exactly how long the plane dropped. It could've been three seconds, five seconds. It couldn’t have been ten seconds, but it still felt like an astonishing amount of time. Clear air turbulence, you’d heard in passing. Plenty of people told you that if you flew long enough, you’d get to experience it. Even Jay mentioned it to you once or twice, you were sure. Your ass thunked hard into the jumpseat, the skeleton of the plane groaning around you as it regained momentum. The moment had passed but was still incredibly present. Masks had dropped, overhead bins had popped open, luggage strewn all over passengers and the aisle. A few passengers who had slept through everything without buckling their lapbelts -- you could see one, halfway laying in the aisle and groggily cursing after having been bounced into the short ceiling. Of course this only happened a month before you were leaving. Thankfully, Jay seemed to have gotten the plane back on track, and you could focus on getting this sorted. 

Jay. 

You’d still gotten no word from the cockpit. The least Jay would’ve done by now is beep the telephone headset in the galley to ask if everyone was alright. He’d done it in lighter conditions. Now you carefully unbuckled, rallying your crew to get to work. Everyone followed you down the aisle, stopping to get the lights on and tend to passengers as you made your way into the cockpit. Thankfully the most damage for the moment appeared to be spilled coffee, but to your curiosity, balance still seemed off in the cabin. You pushed open the cockpit door and gasped, finding Jay slumped in his seat, a concerning drip of blood congealing under a deep bruise on his forehead. In the right-hand seat, First Officer Chan was attempting to hold it together. He shot you a concerned and crazed look. 

“What happened?!” You asked, suddenly distressed as you kicked the door closed behind you and tended to Jay. 

“Turbulence, then clear air turbulence, and the Captain cracked his head on the steering console. I’m thinking it was the air coming off the Rockies as we passed.”

“Are you alright?”

“Fine enough, despite how fubar this whole thing is. How is it out there?” He asked. 

“Fine enough,” you agreed, “what about the plane? We need to get Jay to a doctor and I promise he’s not the only one.”

“I agree. I’m just trying to figure this out. We can ask for a gate at Great Falls.”

“Awesome, let’s do that.”

“But my monitors are telling me a turbofan is beginning to fail from the fall.”

“What’s closer?”

“Helena, I think? I've heard of it but never flown into it.”

“It’s worth a try. Ask ATC for a gate and I'm sure they’ll get you in there.” You turned to leave, to scramble your team and get everyone prepared for landing before Chan desperately reached back and grabbed for you, only managing to get ahold of the hem of your skirt.

“Please don’t leave,” he sighed, “I’m a mess and landing still makes me anxious for some stupid reason.”

“Not stupid,” you reassured him with a hand on his shoulder, “that’s why you put in all this time as First Officer first before anyone expects you to.”

“Here,” he looked over his shoulder and handed you a headset and a flight manual, “can you page ATC for me while I do this? I'm on the brink of losing it if I'm being honest.”

“Of course.” You patted his shoulder again, now feeling bad for being so judgemental before. You didn't know this guy, and he was turning out to be perfectly capable and reasonable. The headset crackled to life, getting ATC and explaining your situation before asking for a gate at the smaller airport. Once you got clearance, you weren’t far off. You paged back to the rear of the plane, finally getting Ronnie to pick up and catching her up to speed. It was reassuring to hear her voice behind you out in the cabin, beginning to prep and organize everyone for landing. 

“I wasn't listening,” Chan sheepishly admitted, “how bad is it out there?”

“Of 198 souls on board, all are still alive,” you paused with a smile at the relieved sigh spilling out of Chan’s chest, “there’s three apparent injuries, a couple broken pairs of eyeglasses… And the Captain.”

Chan grit his teeth for a moment. “Fine,” he said, “If the Captain is the worst then that’s the best I could hope for right now.” 

You pulled down the jumpseat behind Chan and stayed during landing and taxi, keeping a soft but firm hand on his shoulder, but you couldn't help but wonder why: were you comforting him or yourself? Thankfully, your landing kept you from dwelling on it. Despite his trepidation, his landing was excellent. Outside, the blinking white and red lights of ambulances could be seen on the tarmac. Most of your regulars grumbled as they exited the plane, already hurrying to find new flights. You gave Chan one more comforting squeeze on the shoulder. 

“Good landing, First Officer,” you smiled. His returned smile was small as you opened the cockpit door and were instantly pulled into a hug by your crew. You all deplaned, luggage in hand and watching solemnly as Jay was carted off by EMT’s. An older man with a badge approached you. Thankfully, not NTSB. Just higher-ups from the airline. It wouldn’t be a huge deal, just a quick interview with each of you. You looked back to see Chan emerge from the cockpit, backpack slung over one shoulder and cap in his hands when he got intercepted by an investigator of his own. 

The interview was simple. You were sleeping, you woke up to turbulence, the plane fell, you went to check the cockpit and found the Captain out cold, you helped the First Officer decide on the smaller airport based on the factors at hand. Before too long you and your crew were all assembled at the front of the airport, huddled against the frigid winter air and climbing into your comped rental car to your comped motel. The city was still quiet, and none of you were ready to sleep. Thankfully, a small bar down the street from the motel was still open, its red sign a beacon in the still of the night. 

Ronnie carefully nudged Tia in your booth. “You alright?”

Tia nodded. “Sure. Just a little shaken up still. Dumb, right?”

“Not at all,” Brian shook his head as he sipped his beer, “that was fucking terrifying. Never dealt with that before.”

“Dealt with it once,” Ronnie shrugged, “hated it even more this time. You’re not being dumb.”

“How bad was it out there?” You asked. 

“The woman in 14 was having a fit,” Brian laughed, “She couldn’t understand, could not comprehend why we had to divert, and the dude next to her is, like, unconscious. He’s literally just out, he passed out from during the fall and she’s leaning over him and getting snippy with me.”

“Oh my god,” Tia laughed into her vodka cranberry, “what did you do?”

“What you always do,” Ronnie butted in, “Remember this sentence, Tia: I’m sorry you feel that way; if you’d like you can explain your issue to the ticket agent once we land.”

“That works?”

“They either drop it by then or the ticket agent has no patience for it. Just get it out of the damn cabin, you know? We’re already in a tuna can, the least you can do is be civil.”

The night went on like this, but you still couldn’t bring yourself to drink. It didn’t feel like you had anything to celebrate, like you didn’t do anything to warrant a reward. 

“Anyone want to head back to the room?” Ronnie finally relented. 

“Me!” Tia piped up. “I’m bushed and I would love to lie down.”

“Alright, alright,” Ronnie smiled. 

You gathered up your bag to join when you spied someone at the bar. 

Chan. 

How long had he been there? He just sat on the barstool, pensively nursing a hardly-touched beer and staring at his cap on the bar top. You let out a heavy sigh. 

“You guys go ahead,” you offered, “I’ll catch up.”

Brian raised an eyebrow as he closed the tab, his eyes catching the reason for your delay. “Are you sure about that?” Nonetheless, the three burst into laughter and still left, bundled up in their coats against the harsh cold outside. 

You casually approached the bar, taking the seat that Chan’s backpack resided in. You gently picked up the bag, making sure he was seeing you out of the corner of his eye as you set it on the bar top to sit down. A bright red fabric tag caught your eye, REMOVE BEFORE FLIGHT emblazoned across it in bright white with CHAN embroidered on the end. Cute. When you flipped the tag over, more casual script was stitched on the back. Good on ya, Chris. 

“Chris?” You asked out loud, audibly puzzled. 

“Yeah?” Chan finally turned to fully look at you. He raised an eyebrow at your confused face. 

“Wait,” you laughed, “what’s your name?”

“Oh my god,” he smirked, “you thought Chan’s my real name?”

“Of course I did!” You smiled and buried your embarrassed face in your hands, “Jay introduced you that way!”

“Jay was razzing me for the worst call sign on the planet when you came in.”

“It’s your call sign?!” You idiot, you silently admonished. He didn’t buy his flight time. He traded service for half the hours. 

“Horrible, right?”

“I’ve heard worse,” you smiled gently. 

“You didn’t see my name on the itinerary?”

“It said FO C. Bang,” you shrugged helplessly. Chan -- or Chris, rather -- watched curiously as you pulled out your wallet and placed a bill on the bar. “You don’t need a beer,” you shook your head, “you need to talk. Did you get a room at the motel, too?”

Chris nodded, watching as you picked his cap up from the bar and taking it hostage as you turned to leave. He quickly grabbed his bag and followed you as you marched out the door and onto the sidewalk back to the motel. 

“So that explains your name, but I still don’t get the accent. Australia? How did that work with the military?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, almost impressed, “moved here when I was younger. Immigration wasn’t the worst thing in the world for me, but it took forever. Ever since I was a kid I wanted to fly planes, and I knew military service got you half your hours. Got out, went to school, and started teaching businessmen for their private licenses.”

“The real grind,” you smirked. 

“Yup. They always get these planes that look better than they fly.” He stopped you for a moment on the sidewalk, grabbing his cap from your hand and placing it on your head. He grinned with satisfaction, the little dimple it caused looking cuter than it did earlier. “What?” He asked. Your look must’ve given you away. 

“Nothing, I--” you floundered, “I feel bad. I had you pegged wrong. When I met you earlier I had you figured for a rich kid who bought his hours.”

“Oh yeah?” Chris laughed. “Can't say I would've passed an opportunity to. But is that what made you a little… Cold?”

“Yes,” you winced at your admission, “if anyone has ever tried to pinch my ass or pull on my pantyhose or grab my skirt, it's businessmen or young pilots who think they’re hot shit.”

“Your pantyhose?!” Chris stared, visibly disgusted for you when you nodded. “I get it,” he shrugged reassuringly, “better to keep your guard up. How long have you been flying? Any tips you can give me?”

“I’m done next month, to be honest. It’s only been a few years but I think I’m ready.”

“No! You’re kidding. You think we’ll fly together again?”

“Well,” you blushed, “where are you based?”

“New York. I was going to deadhead to LaGuardia after Newark.”

“Makes sense. I'm based out of Sea-Tac. That’s where I'm starting my new job.”

“No!” Chris exaggeratedly sighed, “I can't believe it. You’re not flying anymore?”

“Nope,” you smiled, “grounded as of next month.”

“Bummer,” he shook his head, “you’re a champ. By the way, were you just walking me back to my room?”

You were caught entirely off-guard as you noticed you had accompanied Chris right up to his door, just a few doors down from where you were staying with everyone else. “What? No. I wanted to talk. You looked so out of it back there.”

“Well, we can keep talking in here, then.” Chris smiled, digging his room key out of his pocket and opening the door. You truly considered this for a second. This was a pilot, you were a flight attendant. However, he somehow seemed so helpless in this moment, so at the mercy of this dumb day. Or were you seeing things? No, his voice asking you to stay in the cockpit was still fresh in your ears, his panic as clear in your mind as he was now. You followed him inside and he set his backpack on the floor as he flipped on the lights, apparently not even having been inside the room until now. You followed suit, setting down your purse as well. 

“Was the interview alright?” You asked, pulling up a chair from the small table in the corner as Chris sat himself on the edge of the bed. 

He nodded nonchalantly, stretching and massaging the bridge of his nose. “Sure. Pretty standard stuff. ‘What happened’, ‘what did you do according to procedure,’ all the fun stuff. I was just worried about the Captain the whole time.”

“I don’t blame you,” you offered with a small smile, “But I wouldn’t worry. Jay’s pretty tough.”

“Of course, but… I dunno,” Chris paused, his eyes downcast as he chewed on his lip in thought. “Everything happened so fast. Alarms are going off, the Captain’s out, and all I could think of was how I didn't feel ready. I wasn’t ready for this to happen.”

“When would you ever be? What surprised you the most?”

“I guess… All the people on board. The pressure of almost 200 people depending on you. This wasn’t even a giant disaster but I was on the brink of not being able to handle it that whole time and I just felt like such a failure.”

“But you landed safely,” you sat forward in your chair. You were tempted to place a comforting hand on his knee, but was that too much? “Everyone’s alive. Why would you be a failure?”

“Flying planes was supposed to be it. The thing I'm going to do forever and be happy doing and be great at, but the first real test comes and I almost crumble. What do I do with that?”

“This is it? This is the ‘thing’?” You asked. This time you did rest a hand on his knee, but just for a moment. He regarded it thoughtfully before he nodded. “Then try again,” you continued, “The terrifying thing no one told us growing up was that finding your ‘thing’ isn’t a finish line. It’s not like you find it and that’s it. A lot of times it’s more like goalposts. You have to keep passing them and sometimes there's never a finish line, but you love it and that’s what matters.”

Chris smirked, his shoulders softening. He shrugged his coat and jacket off, laying them next to him on the bed. “You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m glad,” you grinned, “I'm sort of making it up as I go along. I thought being a flight attendant was it, too, but one day I woke up and I didn't feel at home in the skies anymore. I wouldn't worry too much, by the way. You’re a good pilot.”

“And you're a really good flight attendant,” he smiled. “Was today worse than any businessman trying to pull on your pantyhose?”

“Yes,” you laughed, “but it would've been even worse if that happened, too. Besides, nobody flirts with you? That’s discrimination.”

“Of course they do! Last week a very friendly old man in Reno squeezed my arm for way too long when we were deplaning.” 

“What, like this?” You asked, playfully leaning forward and grabbing his bicep. 

“Not quite,” he wheezed out a laugh, “you’re not massaging it and leering at me.”

“This feels gross,” you wrinkled your nose as you tried it, “I feel like a perv.”

“Good, you’re really in the mindset then. It’s weird how old people think this is effective.” You both shared a laugh but you couldn't help but notice the restless look in his eye. 

“You’re still out of it?”

He shook his head. “Stupid, yeah?”

“Not stupid. Here,” you offered with a proactive clap, “an actual tip. Grab the pillow and bring it down here.” Chris eyed you curiously as he grabbed the pillow from behind him. Quickly, you got up and turned on the bedside lamp before flipping the ceiling light off. You took the pillow from him and shooed him off the bed for a second as you pulled aside the covers, laying the pillow on the foot of the bed. “I’m going to sound crazy, but just try it. Lay down now.”

“This way?”

You nodded seriously. Chris silently challenged you, only for a second as he rolled up his uniform sleeves before climbing into bed, his feet up where his head would've been. You took it upon yourself to sit beside him and untie the laces of his masterfully shined shoes. He stiffly looked down his nose, regarding his wiggling feet as you set the shoes together on the floor next to his bag. You reached over and pulled the covers over him, lightly tucking him in for full effect. 

“This feels weird.” He observed. 

“Right?”

“Absolutely bizarre.”

“But it feels new, right?”

“It does. But it’s just a bed,” Chris marveled. 

“Of course it’s just a bed, but 99% of the time you sleep in it one way. I sort of use this as a manual reset, like after a week of back-to-back nonstops and I'm in a different time zone and I don’t even feel like a person. Now how do you feel?”

Chris paused, considering it. “Weirdly enough… A little clarified. Almost a little reorganized. I think you’re right about the reset thing.”

“Glad you think so,” you clapped again as you arose, dusting yourself off. “And I'm glad I could help.”

You turned to gather your purse. Would asking for a phone number be too much? After all, what if you wanted to check on him? A tug pulled you out of your consideration -- literally -- Chris finding the first thing he could reach: the hem of your skirt once again. 

“Wait! You're leaving?”

You smiled down at his hand as he sheepishly let go. “Sure. You feel better now, right? We need some sleep. Want one more tip?”

“Please?”

You took the shabby comforter of the bed and tucked him back in, momentarily musing that you were restraining him from keeping you here longer. “Okay,” you smirked quietly at his careful attention, “one last tip: you actually can get your own coffee, but I would prefer if your pilot friends would ask before just taking over the galley.”

“No!” Chris let out with a surprised laugh, “That doesn’t count!” 

“Sure it does. You'll learn plenty more on your own. Sweet dreams, First Officer Chan.” You tucked him in just a little more, placing a playfully chaste kiss to his brow as a final touch, a final word and a closed door on the feelings you were telling yourself weren't there as you turned to grab your purse. 

Until yet another tug caught your attention. Only this time, it was a gentle pinch at the fabric of your pantyhose. You turned halfway around, the silence in the room crushing you as you locked eyes. Wordlessly, curiously, obviously, you sat back down on the bed and let Chris sit up to kiss you. You admired how his lips didn't waver on yours, even as they lingered. He meant it. 

“What's that for?” You whispered against him. 

“I didn’t want you to go yet,” he whispered back with a small smile, “And you're still wearing my hat.” 

You eyed him carefully despite your blushing face, weighing these heavy possibilities, all while tamping down the wild urge to ignore everything and kiss him again. However, maybe this was just a case of accepting everything… And kissing him again. 

So you did. First, you slipped off his cap from atop your head and set it on the bedside. Then, placing a hand on his shoulder, you attempted to match his confidence as you pushed him back onto the bed, following him down as you kissed him, your lips tight against his before you ultimately softened. Thoughts swam in your head as he slid your coat free from your arms, letting it fall off the side of the bed and onto the floor. 

“Is this alright? Chris asked softly against you, his hands already ahead of the curve and wrapping around your waist. He gently hauled you over to lay on his chest. The way he handled you made you feel weightless, only adding to the floating feeling in your stomach. You gave a short nod. Your fingers lightly brushed his fringe from his eyes, trailing down his cheek as if you were still confirming for yourself that this was real, and you were really making this decision that you had  never made in this situation before. There had been other pilots, other flight attendants, and even the occasional customer, but nothing had ever passed this barrier before. So you crossed it again with another kiss. 

Chris appeared satisfied with your affirmation as he rolled you both over in bed, his knee almost cautious as it parted your legs. The old mattress creaked beneath you, cradling your shoulders as Chris placed a tentative kiss to the nape of your neck. You reached down, lifting the hem of your skirt a little so his hips could settle between your thighs. On their way back up, your fingertips stopped at his belt, unbuckling him and sliding the leather free from the loops. Chris’ lips on your neck paused as he picked himself up from your chest. He watched intently as you pulled at his shirt, untucking it before he intervened. You waited a moment, catching your breath as he loosened his tie and pulled it away from the pressed collar of his shirt. This joined the belt you had dropped off the side of the bed. Both your hands reached for the top buttons of each other's shirts, making your ways down. You weren't sure if Chris was aware of how cutely and obviously he was staring at the slope of your breasts still concealed by your bra, until you took his hand and laid it on your chest. He got the hint quickly, his warm fingers firmly caressing and gently groping you. He seemed almost easily distracted, finding new things to be fixated on as you intermittently kissed and gasped. This time, it was him watching intently as you lifted your hips to reach behind you, unzipping your skirt and pushing it down. He eagerly took over, pulling your skirt off for you, also dropping it off the side of the bed. He sat back, taking a moment to slide off your low heels. A pang of affection thumped in your chest as he almost absent-mindedly massaged each foot before setting your shoes on the floor beside his. Next came your pantyhose. He leaned forward, softly kissing your bent knee as he nuzzled his way up your legs. Finally, his fingers dipped beneath the taut waistband and he watched, almost transfixed as he pulled the meager layer off of you. The sensation was so exposing that the panties that followed almost felt inconsequential. 

You sat up, wondering and watching as Chris kissed his way back up your legs once again, the light tickle of his lips making you smirk as you slipped off the remaining layers of your blouse and bra. He was almost caught off guard, the pause in his Adam’s apple giving away the deep breath he took at the sight of you before shedding his opened shirt as well. He swiftly shucked off his slacks and socks, barely giving you an equal opportunity to admire him before he leaned down to place a gentle introductory kiss just below your navel. Your breathless nod was all he needed to finally taste you. You gasped at the feel of him moaning against you, his tongue making you shiver as you grasped at the bedsheets. 

Too eager to wait, any amount of time he took savoring you between your legs seemed to fly by before he came up for air, running the back of his hand across his chin as he crawled up between your thighs. His hips rested heavy on yours once more, only this time the clear sensation of his erection against your damp entrance was only made more apparent by the thin layer of his briefs separating you both. He waited again for your approval before making another move, his hand poised at his hip until you nodded. The feel of the head of his rigid length was smooth against you, prodding shallowly into your soaked heat. The simultaneous moan that erupted from both of you was fuel on the fire. Your open legs wrapped around his hips, your fingers curled into his hair as you pulled him in for a hungry kiss. Chris slowly rocked his hips, working his way deeper into you until he bottomed out. His groan against your neck was so satisfied, almost as endearing as he was himself. 

You almost felt impatient as he gently fucked you. You wanted more -- more control, more pleasure, more of him. He was surprised as you pushed at his shoulder, feeling empty as he slid out of you and onto his back beside you. You sat up and brazenly pulled his underwear the rest of the way off, taking charge in straddling his hips. This time, however, it was your turn to wait for him. He gave a small, almost timid nod as he watched you. You humored the thought that maybe this was just as different of an experience for him as it was for you. Chris threw his head back on the pillow at the foot of the bed as you eased the walls of your pussy back down onto him, his hand clutching onto your hip and the other grabbing onto your thigh as you slowly began to ride him. Your hips firmly rocked on top of his, drawing more groans and soft curses made under his breath. It didn’t take long for him to get accustomed to you enough that his hands could wander. Now, one groped at your breast and the other traveled up your thigh to between your legs, allowing himself full access to caressing your clit with the pad of his thumb. His eyes lit up at your response, moaning louder than you meant to as your depths clenched around him. Soon enough, the set in his clenched jaw matched his furrowing brow and it was a sight to be enamored with. The stir between your legs started to build heat up your chest like a chimney, your head getting light the further along he pushed you. Chris’s hips bucked up against yours and bounced you harder onto his length. 

He took it upon himself to nod first this time, breathlessly warning you of how close he was and you shook your head, begging him to hold off as your nails lightly raked down his chest. The way he smirked, biting at his lip as he thrust even harder against you, his thumb rubbing faster circles on your clit -- no one had so playfully pushed you to cum before. And it was working. You could feel your toes curling at the unstoppable force at which you were approaching this orgasm, and the way Chris insistently watched only made it all the more intense as you finally locked up, hitting your peak and nearly going limp in the process. The way it hit you, the sound almost dropped out as if you were submerged underwater. He quickly took over, clutching onto your hips now as he fucked into your dripping pussy. You were practically a useless doll with how easily he handled you on top of him, but at the same time he was still so gently firm with you that it was as if you were precious to him. Maybe you were, with the eyes he made at you, at least for now. He watched your blissful face desperately until the moment he couldn't anymore, wrenching his eyes shut and letting his head fall back into the pillow with the force of his own orgasm. 

As his hands released your hips, you exhaustedly curled into yourself on his lap, leaning your head down to wrap around him. Chris held onto you, his trembling matching yours in the wake of your climaxes. His arms hugged strong around your waist nonetheless, embracing you closely as his length gradually softened inside of your sensitive walls. You stayed like that, listening to each other breathe in the quiet of the dimly lit room. As you rolled over to lay at his side, Chris followed you, nuzzling into your chest. You tipped a fingertip under his chin and he looked up at you, his sleepy eyes wrapped up in you and almost reminding you of a puppy. 

He closed his eyes as you kissed his forehead, your fingers lazily stroking his hair as you kissed his nose, his chin, and finally his lips again. 

“What was that for?” He quietly laughed. 

“Congratulations,” you chuckled, “I've never done this before.”

Chris pouted cutely, his eyes still closed, “You're not regretting this already, are you?”

“Of course not,” you soothed, “I'm just surprised it happened. But I'm not surprised it was you.”

He smiled warmly, even in his half-awake state. “What happens tomorrow?”

“You mean today.”

“Tomorrow is tomorrow until I fall asleep,” he laughed, “so what happens then?”

“I'm going to visit Jay if I can,” you decided thoughtfully, “and I'll buy you breakfast at a greasy diner before I put you on a plane to LaGuardia and never see you again.”

“You'll never see me again?” His pout renewed in spades, only with a touch more sincerity to it this time. 

“Sure,” you kissed him with a smile again, “it's hard to keep you pilots on the ground long enough.”

Chris hummed in thought, his grin returning as he caught you challenging him. “Hmm, no.”

“No?”

“No. I'll see you again,” he decided, “You have more tips to show me. I'll be useless without you.”

“Fine,” you laughed. You grabbed the shabby comforter of the bed, bundling up with him where you still laid the wrong way in bed. “I won't say no to that.”

Chris smiled contentedly as you kissed his forehead once more. Your eyes joined his in closing now, softly falling asleep in each other's arms even as a new day was forming outside. The hectic night you'd had finally hit you, gracefully knocking you out as you considered the way you weren't as nervous about being grounded next month. Maybe you wouldn't truly be leaving the skies if he was still up there. 

[foradecision]

THE TOWER, DAY 21 ; 7:03:54.

     "yo, cap — hold up a sec.” 

     crane’s brows lift. he breaks stride halfway down the hall, turning back around on his heel to look at spike. “‘cap’?”

     “yeah, you know. captain america. ‘cause of the whole straight - laced, boy scout vibe —”

     he snorts. “kiss my ass, man.” 

     “nah, even better. got’chu a present.” 

     “oh yeah? it’s not even my birthday.” 

     “might as well be.” whatever he’s been holding is offered in plain sight, passed over once his strides cover the floor between them. “tried out a new recipe for the firecrackers. old ones’ll give you, what, ten, fifteen seconds? these babies, though — twice the juice.”

     “no shit? thirty seconds?” 

     “yup, just about. means you’ll have plenty of time to get your white ass clear of whatever clusterfuck it’s in, and then some.”

     he glances down, starts to tuck them into one of his pockets, then hesitates and catches spike’s eye again. “you sure you can spare ‘em? mine’s not the only ass out there every day.” 

     “got the prototype set up in back,” spike says. “for now, what you’ve got is all we got, but gimme a few more hours. we’ll have enough to go around.” 

     satisfied, crane nods and stores the firecrackers. “thanks, spike.” 

     “we do what we can.” a hand extended to grasp crane’s for a beat. “stay safe, man. next beer’s on me.” 

     “isn’t that shit communal?” 

     “hey, i take it back. go fuck yourself.” 

     crane laughs. the echo of it lingers on his face while he makes his way to the tower’s exit, but it’s quick to fade: the area’s empty, the doors unmanned. he throws a glance toward deniz who’s passing by with a crate of medical supplies, headed to the elevator that’ll take him up to sickbay. 

     “where the hell’s blake?” 

     “don’t know. it’s still early.” 

     “okay, and — ? c’mon, he knows better than that. last time he left his post, we almost lost a fuckin’ kid. do me a favor and track him down, huh?” 

     deniz nods and disappears around the corner. shaking his head, crane works the doors open and steps outside.

     the rustle of a bird startled into flight greets him as soon as he does. two circle, then a third takes wing. hoarse, throaty cries, jarring in the dazed heat of early morning; they’re vultures, he realizes. that isn’t unusual. enough carnage in the slums to draw them, keep them occupied, their bellies full. what’s unusual is their proximity to the tower’s shadow. the courtyard’s kept clean — as clean as it can be, at least, but that means it’s routinely swept of biters, their carcasses tossed past the wall. cloudbursts and regular storms do enough to wash away most of the blood. 

     forehead creased to a furrow, crane steps further out and lifts a hand to block the sun. the vultures do another lap and three more join in. there’s a noise from somewhere that sounds like a slow leak from a water pipe. the fuck ... ?

     he jogs down the stairs and does a full turn so he’s facing the tower again. 

     that’s when he sees it. 

     three floors above ground level, dripping gore onto the concrete. that’s where the noise is coming from. that’s where the birds are congregating. 

     “what the ...”

     blake’s voice rings out across the yard. mesut, another of the watch, is in tow. “hey, i don’t know who died and made you boss, but last i checked it was brecken who called th—”

     “shut the fuck up and look at this.” 

     “what? listen, you’re —”

     “hey!” crane parrots back sharply. “you wanna come down here and explain how the fuck this happened?"

     the two men filter outside and follow the trajectory of his gesture. 

     “holy —”

     a body. the corpse of one of their scouts, gutted, strung up from the window guard with what looks like a combination of cable and rope. intestines spill from the split of her eviscerated stomach, hanging like streamers. like the whole thing is decorative. on display. crane takes the stairs again, two at a time, and lands a solid shove against blake’s chest. 

     “you’re goddamn lucky brecken’s the one in charge, ‘cause if it were me, i’d throw your ass to the fuckin’ biters right now. how’d you miss this, blake? huh? where the hell were you when they were stringin’ her up?”

     “me? what, this is my fault?”

     “you’re supposed to watch the fuckin’ door, blake!” 

     “i was! i stepped away for ten minutes, not even —”

     “you don’t step away ever, you hear me? you do your fuckin’ job!” 

     mesut has to get between them, one hand braced against blake’s chest and the other held out, palm up, to crane. “guys, guys — c’mon, this isn’t helping. stop. take a breath. we need to go inside and tell —”

     “yeah, why don’t you get on that,” crane grates out, still glaring daggers at blake. “in fact, while you’re at it, get me a fuckin’ ladder, too.” 

     “a ladder — ?” 

     “jesus, do i have to spell everything out for you people? you think we’re gonna just leave her up there for the vultures? no. no, i’m cuttin’ her down. get the fuck out of my sight, blake. i mean it.”

     but cutting her down is only easy in theory, not in practice. the bindings are tight. between the deadweight, the birds, and the sheer butchery of her condition, maneuvering her to solid ground — to the tarp he’d laid there beforehand — is a grisly, strenuous task. her name was defne. local girl, mid - twenties, used to be a competitive swimmer before the outbreak. healthy. slight, a head shorter than him, but all muscle, and fast as hell. 

     clearly not fast enough. 

     the abrasions on her wrists catch his eye. bruises that aren’t mottled, the way they would be if she’d already been dead at the time they were made. blood had rushed to the area, colored the skin underneath. 

     she was still alive when they’d hung her up there. 

     crane, by no means, has a weak stomach. if the things he’d seen during active duty weren’t enough for him to keep any physical response in check, the things he’d seen during his time in harran definitely were. bile washes up his throat anyway, pitches against the roof of his mouth. he has to tug the bandanna from his face and press his lips to the back of his gloved hand, forcing a thick, sour swallow, counting off seconds in his head as he wills the nausea to pass. the prickle of sweat all over him has little to do with the heat. but he counts, and it passes. a breath out and he’s focused again. on getting her wrapped, preparing her for transport to the nearest lot where he’ll be able to start a fire and — 

     something’s carved into the skin of her rib cage. easily missed at first, because of the blood. it’s an arrow; facing outwards, like it’s pointing to her back. 

     slowly, mindful of the gaping, weeping ruin of her stomach, crane turns her over. 

     “what th— what the fuck happened?” 

     brecken. coming outside, throwing his shadow across the tarp as he moves behind crane. crane, who hasn’t moved at all. 

     “brecken,” he says, guttural as one of the vultures. “it ...” 

     five letters, branded red, sliced deep into the flesh between defne’s shoulder blades. his name. it spells out his name.

     more people are drifting outside, mesur and deniz, seth, buckshot — spike brings up the rear with deanna close to his elbow, edging past him to get a clearer look at the scene. the four boys are there, nate and peter, omar and rahim, and whatever’s being said, whatever collective murmurings pass through the group at large, crane doesn’t hear. 

     he rocks back on his heels and looks up at brecken, whose gaze is already aligned with his. it holds for a long, long moment, and then brecken’s turning to address everyone else. 

     “alright, all of you lot back inside — spike, get them out of here,” that’s a more direct command, and the ‘them’ in question — four stubborn kids — is ushered through the doors first amidst a chorus of griping complaints. “unless you hear me say your name,” brecken continues, “go back to your posts and stay there. deanna, meet us upstairs. jade — where the hell is jade?” 

     mesut starts to say something and brecken waves him off before he’s gotten out a single word. 

     “just fucking find her, yeah?”

     “on it, boss.” 

     and still, crane hasn’t moved. 

     it’s his name. it’s his fucking name, on the skin of a dead girl. 

     “crane. hey.” brecken’s hand lands on his shoulder. “i’ll take her ‘round back. go on upstairs and wait for me.” 

     “you can’t carry her by yourself.” his voice is monotone, rasping at the edges. “i got it.” 

     deanna’s next. unsurprisingly, she didn’t go when she’d been told to. “we got it,” she says, already handling the tarp, and brecken joins in, the two of them wrapping defne up until crane can’t see the letters anymore.

     all three get her moved from the yard. get her clear of prying eyes to where she needs to be. autopilot takes over and none of them speak to each other until the body’s burning and they’re gathered in hq, along with lena, spike, and jade. 

     at first, crane just listens. talk surrounding blake is what jade jumps on first, because it’s the second time he’s pulled this — that they know of — and for the second time, somebody else paid for it. speculation that’s more assumption about what happened, as if there’s any real uncertainty around who’s responsible. it doesn’t matter who made the call, or the cuts. it comes back to rais.

     it always fucking comes back to rais.

     “they’re trying to rattle us, make us weak,” jade is saying. “the timing of this is no coincidence.” 

     she means the lull that wasn’t a lull. that span of days following nate’s rescue, where the threat seemed to retreat; it wasn’t a victory. it was a tactical move. 

     “he wanted my attention,” crane says. 

     everyone stops, everyone looks his way. deanna’s the only one he makes eye contact with and even then, it isn’t maintained. 

     “this is all part of his sick game, don’t you get it yet? he left her for me. he wants me. and i’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of everyone else bleeding for it.”

     “so — what?” spike says. “you gonna go after him yourself? that ain’t the play, man.” 

     “isn’t it?” 

     “the hell it is,” brecken puts in, and jabs a finger in crane’s direction. “don’t you even think about doing it, crane. not on my fucking watch. you go after him now, you’re giving him exactly what he wants.”

     “fuck it, then!” crane’s voice gets louder and he steps forward so brecken’s finger jabs his chest instead. “hell, if that’s what it’s gonna take, he can have it! one way or another, i’m ending this — and you’re not gonna stop me, brecken. all due respect, man, but —”

     “right, right, because making yourself a fucking martyr is the best course of action here, is it? don’t you square up to me like you’re —”

     “what? like i’m what, huh?”

     “you think i don’t want to see rais’ head on a fucking pike? you think all of us don’t want to end this?”

     “yeah, well, it wasn’t your fuckin’ name they knifed into a goddamn corpse!”

     “fucking hell,” jade bites off, at the same time lena gets in between the two men like mesut had done with blake earlier. 

     “enough, do you hear me? that’s enough.”

     “oh, my god —” the growling vitriol burns crane’s throat. he backs off, swiping his jaw with the flat of his wrist, hands landing at either hip. he’s gearing up to pop off again but deanna’s right there with a palm at the center of his chest. he’s breathing hard, almost panting. “you know he’s not just gonna stop, right?"

     “i know.” 

     “and i’m — just — what, i’m supposed to fuckin’ sit here with my thumbs up my ass, lettin’ him butcher his way through everyone in this place until he gets to me? is that it? is that the goddamn play?” 

     “hey. look at me.” 

     he’s so wound up that he damn near chokes on the next breath he pulls in, but he does as he’s told. this time, the eye contact is steady. the palm at his chest is steady. for a minute, it’s like the room’s emptied of every person except for them. 

     “blake’s off guard duty,” brecken says, clipped. “i’m putting a twenty - four hour watch on the fucking courtyard, no exceptions. spike —”

     “yeah.” 

     “can you rig another fence trap for that gap in the wall?” 

     “way ahead of you, boss. just gotta reroute the generators without pullin’ too much power from the floodlights.” 

     “but you can do it.”

     “’course i can do it.” 

     “good. get it done.” his eyes scan each face in turn. “jade, radio any other scouts in the field and tell them to pull back. i don’t want anybody else leaving until we’ve set up reinforcements. the rest of you, inventory and perimeter checks. find out where that prick blake is hiding,” this, to deanna, “and tell him if he isn’t standing in front of me in the next half - hour, he’ll lose more than just his job.”

     then he looks at crane. 

     “you, stay here. we’re not quite done.”